


We're All Mad Here

by erpsicle



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Zacharie's face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erpsicle/pseuds/erpsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Batter's only friend disappears without a trace, his only choice is to follow the white rabbit - or in this case, the white cat. He quickly learns that not everything is as it seems. Human AU, Batterie, rated M for gore and NSFW content in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Batter hated the hospital. No, that wasn't quite true; it was clean and white and everything was in its proper place, and he liked that. He might have lived there quite happily, provided that he was left to his own devices. It was the people he couldn't stand, always poking and prodding and asking questions and talking to him in stupid insipid voices as if he were a child. And he hated the boredom. Especially the boredom. It would have driven him mad, but thanks to his fucked up brain that particular ship had sailed quite some time ago.

Batter lay upside down on his bed, throwing a ball at the ceiling. There were several sheets of exercises on the desk beneath the window, pages of meaningless black scratches sent over by his school. They were all untouched. He was bored, yes, but not that bored.

There was a small dent in the ceiling directly above Batter's head. He aimed the ball, flicked it upwards with a satisfying  _thunk_ , and caught it easily in his other hand. He could do this all day if he had to.

"You are going to have to talk to me eventually, son," said his therapist, an enormously fat man who insisted that Batter call him Enoch. Batter thought this was rich, seeing as  _Enoch_  refused to call him anything but  _son_. Batter hated it, and he hated Enoch. Enoch wasn't his father. He wasn't even a doctor. He was just a lardass with a notebook. Batter pretended the dent was one of the pockmarks on Enoch's moonlike face, and threw the ball again, smiling.

"You do want to go home, don't you, son? Back to school?"

Why the fuck would he want to do that? Home was stained for him now. His mother was terrified of him. His friends were terrified of him. Well, at least they would be. If he had any. School didn't interest him. The only thing he had ever had to go back to was his baseball team, but he'd fucked that up this time, too. They wouldn't want him back now. Not after this got out.

He threw the ball again, harder this time, vehemently, and missed the dent by about an inch.

"Of course you do. And that was the deal, remember? You take your meds, you rehabilitate, and you talk to me. There's no way around it, son, it's all part and parcel."

_I'm not your son_ , Batter wanted to scream.  _I don't want to go home or back to school. And I don't have to talk to you. So stop pretending you know shit about what's going on in my mind, lardass._

He knew it was childish, but he couldn't have cared less. Enoch could go to hell. They all could. He threw the ball again, then again, and again, faster and faster until it was nothing but a white smear across his eyes and time blurred. By the time he finally missed a catch his palms were stinging, the plaster above his head had begun to crumble, and Enoch's chair was empty.

Batter smiled to himself, then rolled off his bed to retrieve the ball.


	2. Chapter 2

There was only one good thing about Enoch's visits, and that was that they only happened once a day. Unfortunately he was never alone for long, what with the constant trickle of nurses in and out, bringing him his meds and tasteless meals and checking this and that like clockwork soldiers in scrubs, but at least they didn't seem to mind that he never spoke; once he had swallowed the pills and offered up his empty mouth for their approval, he was more or less free to ignore them.

Then there was the Doctor, a tall, languid man as opposite to Enoch as water was to rock. He had a foreign sounding name and spoke in precise but oddly accented French. Batter didn't know where he was from, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He talked a lot, for one thing, but like the nurses he seemed unfazed if Batter didn't respond. And he didn't call him son. Yeah, Batter supposed he liked the Doctor well enough, even if by like he meant Hate Slightly Less Than Everyone Else In This Godforsaken Helltrap.

Aside from Enoch, the Doctor, and the nurses, Batter never had visitors. He vaguely remembered his mother coming to see him once, early on, but he had ignored her, she had cried, and she hadn't been back since. After that, Batter managed to convince himself that it was better this way.

Once Enoch left for the day, Batter was free to enjoy a rare moment of solitude. He stretched out on the bed (right way up this time), and was just about to close his eyes when he heard his door open again.

_Oh goddammit_. He closed his eyes anyway, hoping that whoever had just come into his room would think him asleep and leave him the fuck alone. But it was not to be. Light footsteps skirted his bed, followed by a brief dragging sound. A moment later he heard the squeak of what he had come to think of loathingly as Enoch's chair, and then… silence.

Well that was weird. Maybe Enoch was back for another round. Batter cracked an eye open, and immediately knew three things.

First, someone was draped over Enoch's chair.

Second, it definitely wasn't Enoch. It was a boy, close to his own age, wearing a pale knitted jumper that swamped his slender frame. Golden-brown fingertips peeked out from the ends of the sleeves.

Third, despite the fact that his face was completely hidden behind some sort of weird, frog-like mask, the boy was definitely staring at him. Batter could just make out his eyes; dark, like chocolate. They seemed to smile.

Batter stared back. He couldn't help it.

" _Hola, amigo_ ," the masked boy said, giving Batter a cheery salute. "How goes it?"

And that was how Batter first met the strange masked boy he would come to know as Zacharie.


	3. Chapter 3

Batter felt like an idiot just lying there, so he sat up.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get in here?" His voice sounded strange, almost foreign to his ears. Had it really been so long since he had last spoken aloud?

The boy chuckled, the sound made eerily hollow by the mask. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Zacharie. My feline companion here is Judge."

His what now? Batter glanced down. Sure enough, a thin white cat was sitting on the floor next to Zacharie's chair. It must have felt him staring, because it looked up from the paw it had been contentedly washing and gave him an alarmingly toothy grin. Batter blinked. Were cats supposed to do that? He had never owned one, but somehow he didn't think so.

"Judge says hello," Zacharie informed him, as the cat went back to its paw. "He would tell you himself, but unfortunately he refuses to associate with 'phantasmagorical projections'. His words, not mine."

Batter just stared.

"He thinks you're a figment of his imagination," Zacharie explained.

Right. Well that cleared that up; Batter had officially found someone crazier than himself.

"You really don't talk much, do you, friend," the boy observed. "The Magnolias said as much, but I figured that was because you didn't like them. But it turns out you're simply a man of few words. Not to worry though; as I'm sure you've noticed, I have plenty of words for the both of us to get along just fine."

Batter was well and truly lost now. "The magnolias?" he repeated uncertainly. Great. The first person he talks to in gods only knew how long, and it's a freak in a mask who talks to cats and flowers. But that was his luck through and through, wasn't it.

"The nurses, my recalcitrant friend." Zacharie gestured to a spot just above his heart. "Their scrubs have a little magnolia here. So, Magnolias."

Okay, so he didn't talk to flowers. He was still weird though, and Batter realised he still had no idea how Zacharie had got into the room, or even why he was here. He was sure he had never seen him before in his life, and yet here Zacharie was, chatting away to him as though they were long lost friends.

"Do I… know you?" Batter ventured.

"Of course you do!" Zacharie exclaimed, sounding a little hurt. "Zacharie, remember? I introduced myself not five minutes ago, you can't have forgotten already. But now that I think about it, I realise that you have neglected to tell me  _your_  name. Less gracious individuals might consider this  _disgustingly_  rude, but I can see that you're new to this sort of thing, so I'll overlook it. You're welcome."

Well that was… somewhat relieving, he supposed.

"On the other hand, I can't just give you something for nothing! What kind of merchant would I be if I did that?"

Merchant? What was this, the Middle Ages? No one said merchant anymore.

Zacharie was holding out a hand. Batter stared at it blankly, before remembering that he still hadn't told the boy his name.

"Batter," he said, taking Zacharie's hand and shaking it stiffly. His eyes dared the boy to laugh. "My name is Batter."

Zacharie didn't laugh. " _Enchanté_ ," he said. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Batter. Sadly, I must be off; Judge has just informed me that you are about to receive a visit from Doctor Dedan, and I would do well to be gone before he arrives. He doesn't like me very much, you see. I have no idea why, but different strokes for different folks, I suppose.  _Adiós, amigo_. Until next time."

Before Batter could even think to say goodbye, Zacharie was already on his feet and out the door, Judge at his heels. As Batter watched, the bony white cat turned and shot him another disturbing grin, before whipping through the door as it swung closed.

The room seemed deafeningly quiet, now that the boy in the mask had gone. Batter looked at his hand, turning it over and over as though he were seeing it for the first time.

_Was that… real?_  he wondered. Batter pressed the hand to his cheek. Had it always been this warm, or was it the lingering heat of Zacharie's skin he could feel?

He was still sitting like that, hand to cheek, when the Doctor arrived. He hadn't been scheduled to check on Batter that afternoon, but somehow, Batter wasn't surprised to see him.


	4. Chapter 4

"How are we doing today?" the Doctor asked, taking the clipboard from the wall above Batter's bed and flicking through it.

"Fine," said Batter, without thinking. The Doctor glanced at him, a small crease appearing between his neat brows, as though he wasn't sure of what he had just heard. Then, he smiled.

"Finally talking, I see. What changed?"

Batter glared at him, realised that his hand was still plastered stupidly to his face, and lowered it self-consciously. The Doctor chuckled.

"Alright then, don't tell me. I'm glad anyway. Maybe now you can start making progress with Enoch and we can finally get you out of here."

Batter supressed a groan as the Doctor replaced the clipboard and swept out of the room, looking revoltingly pleased with himself. As if the end to Batter's silent protest had been entirely his doing, and not because of some freak in a mask. Now he would  _have_  to talk to Enoch, and it was  _all Zacharie's fault, goddammit…_

Not knowing what else to do, Batter rolled onto his stomach, seized his pillow, and screamed into it in frustration.

When he had finished screaming he rolled over again, keeping the pillow pressed against his face. "Stupid Zacharie," he growled. "Stupid Zacharie with his stupid mask and his stupid jumper and his stupid, freakish cat…" How had he known that, anyway? About the Doctor. Zacharie, that is, not the cat. Cats didn't know things. And yet, Batter couldn't help but feel that there was something not quite right about it; not just the way it smiled (though that was creepy enough on its own), but the way it had looked at Batter with far more intelligence than any animal had any right to have. As if it had seen things that Batter could not possibly imagine, things that were so incredibly  _real_  that humans seemed mere shadows in comparison, not solid beings at all…

Batter laughed. Maybe he was as mad as Zacharie after all. Judge was just a cat. Just a skinny, mangy, freakish cat, and Zacharie nothing more than a weirdo in a homemade mask.

Yeah.

Right.

But that didn't stop Batter from glancing at the door every few seconds for the next three hours, jumping each time it opened, only to be disappointed when it spat out a bustling Magnolia and not a boy in a frog-faced mask. And when the lights in the corridor outside clicked off one by one, Batter climbed into bed and lay facing the bony grey shape of Enoch's chair – still back to front from when Zacharie had sat in it earlier. It was the last thing he saw before he fell asleep, and the first when he awoke, and both times it was as empty as a broken birdcage… but looking at it from the cupboard sized bathroom as he brushed his teeth, Batter could have sworn it was a few inches closer to his bed now than it had been the night before.


	5. Chapter 5

One visit each from the Doctor and Enoch, countless from the Magnolias, and several hours of mind-numbing boredom and impatience had passed before Batter saw Zacharie again. This time he didn't even hear the door; he was sitting on his bed, polishing his baseball bat – more out of want for anything to do than any real need, since it wasn't about to see any action in this place any time soon – so he had no way of knowing how long the boy had been there. One moment Enoch's chair was empty; the next, Batter looked up and Zacharie's eyes were smiling back at him from the depths of his mask. He had turned the chair around again and was straddling the seat, one elbow propped up on the back of it so he could rest his chin in his hand.

"Hello again, friend," he said cheerfully. "That's a nice bat you have there. The name makes sense now."

Batter glanced down at the bat in his hands. He had almost forgotten he was holding it. Remembering what Zacharie had said about being a merchant, his hands tightened around it protectively.

As if he had read Batter's mind, Zacharie chuckled.

"Don't worry,  _amigo_. I may be a merchant, but I have no interest in such things. And even if I did, I wouldn't presume to able to afford something so precious." His eyes suddenly seemed sad behind the ever-smiling mask, following the bat as Batter gave it a final swipe with the cloth and leaned it against the wall beside his bed.

"What kind of merchant are you, then?" Batter asked, deciding – at least for now – to play along with whatever convoluted scheme the mad boy had cooked up.

Zacharie seemed pleased by the question. "Why, a merchant of the only thing of value in a place like this!" he cried, spreading his hands. "Stories, my friend, stories!"

Batter blinked. "Stories?"

Zacharie nodded enthusiastically.

"So what, like, The Lost Children?" Batter said dubiously. He'd never had much of an interest in fairy tales, but for some reason that one had stuck with him. Perhaps because he had often entertained the thought that his own parents might have been happier if they had left  _him_  out in the woods to be eaten by the Devil. Though knowing his luck, old Nick would probably have taken one bite of Batter and spat him back out.

"What? No, no," Zacharie waved a hand dismissively. "Those things are as cheap as dirt! I'm talking real stories, my friend, ones that have  _weight_. Everyone has a story worth telling; it's just a matter of sniffing out the really good ones. And you, my friend…" he leaned forward and his eyelids fluttered closed as he inhaled deeply. Batter leaned away, a little self-consciously. "You smell like the best story yet."

Did Zacharie really just  _smell_  him? Okay, that was… weird. Really weird. But hey, there were worse things to smell of than a good story, right?

"So," Zacharie barrelled on. "How about it, friend?  _Quid pro quo_ ; you tell me yours, I tell you mine. We have already completed one successful transaction, so you know that I am a man of my word."

"We have?"

"Oh yes. Just yesterday we exchanged names. And names, as everyone knows, are stories in themselves."

Batter was silent.

"Oh come now!" Zacharie cajoled. "Surely there must be something you want to know? I have nothing but wonderful stories up these sleeves of mine."

Batter didn't doubt it; the boy was a mystery wrapped in an enigma hidden behind a mask. And that, of course, was the obvious question: Zacharie, why do you wear a mask? But somehow Batter knew that no matter how deep and dark a secret he gave up in return, it would never be enough to pay for  _that_. So after looking briefly around the room and finding nothing that might interest either of them, Batter's eyes finally alighted on his beloved wooden bat. Zacharie had looked at it strangely before. Maybe there was a story there?

"D'you play?" he said at last. Zacharie followed his eyes to the bat, and he leaned forward slightly in interest.

"No," he answered. "I can't say as I ever have. May I?" When Batter nodded, Zacharie dismounted the chair and retrieved the bat, giving it an experimental swing, before looking at it thoughtfully. "Hmm, no," he said with a short laugh. "Not really my area of expertise."

"You need to hold it lower," Batter said. Zacharie shifted his hands.

"Better?"

"No, here." Batter slid off the bed and placed his hands over Zacharie's, adjusting the boy's grip himself. His hands were warm beneath Batter's cool ones. "Like this. Now put your feet a bit further apart."

Zacharie eyes glittered with amusement, but he did as Batter instructed.

"Bend your knees. No, not that much," Batter laughed, stepping back to look at him properly. "Okay, try again."

Zacharie obediently swung again. God, he really was awful at this, and Batter told him as much. Zacharie shrugged, laughing that low, breathy laugh, and held out the bat for Batter to take. "Clearly I'm more of a lover than a fighter."

Luckily the sudden bizarre warming of Batter's cheeks went unnoticed, because at that moment the door opened and the bat clattered noisily to the floor as a plump blonde Magnolia bustled in with Batter's meds.

"I hope you weren't swinging that in here, young man," she said, nodding to the bat on the floor. Batter shook his head absently; Zacharie had vanished. He wondered dimly why Judge hadn't warned them about the nurse, before realising that Zacharie had come alone.

It seemed to take several eternities for the Magnolia to check his mouth for hidden pills and make her notes on the clipboard, and by the time she left Batter had worked himself into a barely contained frenzy. Where had Zacharie gone? There was no way he could have got out the door without being seen by either Batter or the nurse; the same went for the bathroom. A cold, crawling uncertainty took hold of his spine. There was nowhere else he could be, which begged the question:

Had he ever really been there at all?


	6. Chapter 6

"Zacharie?" Batter called, once the door had closed and he was sure the Magnolia had passed out of earshot.

"Down here,  _amigo_."

Relief flooded him. Batter got down on all fours and peered under the bed; there, no doubt grinning behind his stupid mask like the infuriating madman he was, was Zacharie. Batter wasn't sure if he wanted to hit him or hug him.

"That was close," Zacharie said brightly.

"Zacharie?" Batter asked.

"Mm?"

"Where's Judge?"

"Oh, he said he had something to do," Zacharie replied vaguely. "Speaking of which, I'd better get back."

Batter moved aside and stood up so Zacharie could scoot out from beneath the bed. His mask must have been knocked slightly in his hurry to dive out of sight, because he was adjusting it with deft, practised fingers as he emerged.

"Why do you wear that?" Batter heard himself ask, before he could stop himself. He regretted the words instantly.

At first he thought Zacharie hadn't heard him. He finished retying the ribbon at the back of his mask, then brushed at the front of his jumper. When he finally looked up, his eyes were sadder than Batter had ever seen them. Oh, stupid,  _stupid_! Batter would have kicked himself if he hadn't already made himself look enough of an idiot. Why, why in the deepest circle of hell would he ask that when he knew he couldn't possibly pay for it?

_Oh, but you could_ , whispered a small, sneering voice in the depths of his mind.  _You know you could. You've seen things, done things that would make this boy's flesh crawl…_

Batter hushed the voice with practised ease _. No, no, no, I don't have to listen to you anymore, I'm taking my meds, I'm doing everything right, la-la-la I can't hear you…_

"You should be careful,  _amigo_ ," Zacharie spoke quietly. "Some stories cannot be bought as easily as others. You may not like what you have to give in return."

With that he stepped around Batter and went to the door.

"Zacharie, wait," Batter said, as Zacharie's hand poised over the door handle. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine," Zacharie cut in, his voice still terrifyingly quiet. "Forget about it,  _amigo_. I'll see you tomorrow." Then he was gone.

"See you," Batter mumbled to the closing door. Would he really, though? The way he had just fucked up, Batter wouldn't blame Zacharie at all if he never returned. In fact, as of that moment, Batter was sure he would never see the boy in the mask again.

That night he couldn't sleep; the empty chair loomed in the darkness, and he tossed and turned, feeling the loss of Zacharie's presence like the itch of a phantom limb.

 


	7. Chapter 7

"One of the nurses said she heard you talking to someone yesterday," said Enoch. "You want to tell me about that, son?"

Batter wouldn't look at him. He picked listlessly at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"Your mother told me about the voices. I can talk to Doctor Dedan about upping your Risperdal-"

"It's not the voices," Batter said quickly. The last thing he wanted or needed was more meds; they made him feel heavy and stupid and as far he was concerned they had done nothing to help him. "His name's Zacharie."

"Oh?" Batter heard Enoch scribble something in his notebook. "Tell me about him."

Batter began to wind the loose thread around his finger. "I don't know what he looks like," he said dully. "He wears a mask, a frog mask. He never takes it off. He had a cat with him once, a white cat named Judge."

More scribbling. "Mhmm, go on."

It occurred to Batter, in that moment, that he knew next to nothing about Zacharie. But he supposed that made sense; he had only spoken to him twice, hadn't he? "He talks a lot," he said slowly. "And he can't play baseball. That's it really."

Gods, what was the lardass writing? A fucking  _novel_? "And how many times have you seen him?"

"Only tw- wait,  _seen_  him?" Batter looked up. "You think he's another hallucination, don't you?" he demanded. His hands curled into fists.

Enoch raised his doughy hands in a supplicating gesture. "You said it, son, not I."

"Well he's not," Batter said loudly, trembling with the barely-restrained need to leap up and bash Enoch's greasy face in. Of course Batter had considered the possibility that Zacharie might not be entirely real; he may have been crazy, but he wasn't stupid. But somehow having his fears put into words by his repugnant therapist was a step too far. And it made his blood boil. "He's real. He won't be back, though."

"And why is that?"

Batter looked away again. "I said something I shouldn't have."

"Hmm." The notebook snapped shut, and there was tortured creak from Enoch's chair as the man heaved his bulk out of it. "Alright. You will let me know if this…  _Zacharie_ , returns, yes?"

"He won't."

"Even so."

Batter made a noncommittal noise, and Enoch left.

"He won't be back," Batter repeated, quietly, and wondered how such simple words could make his chest hurt so much.

He needn't have feared, though. As he was coming out of the bathroom that afternoon, his tired eyes lit on a familiar sight; Zacharie, draped over the back of Enoch's chair. Batter froze in the doorway, hardly daring to believe.

" _Buenos dias, ami_ -"

Batter didn't wait to hear the rest of Zacharie's greeting. Before he even knew what he was doing he had crossed the room and pulled the masked boy into a fierce hug. Zacharie let out a breathy laugh of surprise as the air was crushed out of him by Batter's arms.

"Missed me that much, did you?" he managed.

Batter didn't speak. Zacharie was solid and undeniably real; Batter could smell the cheap hospital shampoo in his soft black hair, feel the tickle of woollen jumper on his bare arms and Zacharie's warm, constant heartbeat against his own. Yes, Zacharie was here. He was here, and he was real.

"Batter?"

"Yeah?"

"As much as I appreciate the uncharacteristically enthusiastic greeting," Zacharie gasped. "I also appreciate being able to  _breathe_."

Oh, right. Batter relaxed his death-grip and stepped away. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "It's just I-"

"Thought I wasn't coming back?" Zacharie finished. When Batter nodded he tilted his head slightly, as though he were an ornithologist and Batter a particularly interesting bird. "I said I would be here today, did I not? Perhaps you did not believe me when I said I am a man of my word."

Batter shrugged.

"Or perhaps a mutual acquaintance has been sowing seeds of doubt in your mind, my friend?"

Something unpleasant squirmed in the pit of Batter's stomach. Did Zacharie mean who he thought he meant?

"A particularly large-boned individual," Zacharie went on. He spat the words out like a bad taste. "I suppose he calls you 'son', too?"

Enoch. "He's your therapist as well, huh?"  _That bastard…_

"Oh yes." Zacharie sounded none too pleased with this, and Batter couldn't blame him. "He's everyone's therapist. We're all mad here, you know. In one way or another. But enough about that," he said dismissively. For a moment Batter thought he was going to leave, but Zacharie merely wandered over to the bat, hefted it and gave it an artistic twirl. "You were teaching me how to wield this formidable weapon of yours, were you not? I don't think anyone will be bothering us for a while today; seems that someone caused quite a disturbance in the next ward over, and I expect your Doctor Dedan will want to look into it personally."

Batter fancied there was an impish gleam in the boy's eyes as he said this.

"That disturbance wouldn't have anything to do with you, would it?" he asked shrewdly. Zacharie just winked. Oh well.  _Looks like that's another secret I can't afford._

Not that it mattered. Zacharie could burn the entire hospital down for all he cared. Batter wordlessly corrected Zacharie's grip – again – and they got down to business. Batter told Zacharie about baseball, and in return Zacharie fed him morsels of information about his own interests. When Zacharie's arms began to ache and they nearly put Batter's baseball through a window, the bat was returned to its place by the bed and their conversation turned to other things; their families, their lives outside the hospital, their hopes and plans for the future. And bit by bit, Batter began to piece together Zacharie's story.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Zacharie grew up on the edge of a small coastal town near Perpignan, in a house that overlooked the vicious waters of the Golfe du Lion. His mother taught at the local primary school, while his father was an artist. Apparently his work had become quite popular recently; even the hospital had bought one of his impressionist pieces. Batter couldn't remember ever having seen it, but then he had never had much of an interest in art. Or in anything, really. Not until Zacharie. Hell, Zacharie could go on and on about the migration patterns of deep sea snails and Batter would listen for hours. There was something about the way his eyes lighted up when he spoke about the things he loved. It was infectious. Intoxicating. It was so completely different to everything he had ever known, and Batter couldn't get enough.

There was only one problem: Batter's own life was so bland that he couldn't help but feel as though he was short-changing the masked boy with every grey, uninteresting story he told. He had little to say about his mother, a colourless secretary for some faceless corporation, and even less to say about his father. It was like giving a master chef a bowl of dry cereal and expecting to be paid in truffles. But if Zacharie minded even the slightest bit, he didn't show it. He took Batter's cereal with both hands, and in return threw him a banquet fit for a king.

Supposing that Zacharie had inherited his father's passion for art, Batter took a risk and asked if he had made the mask himself. Zacharie laughed and said no, sadly he had received all of the passion and none of the skill; the mask was his sister's doing. Sugar (no wonder he hadn't laughed at Batter's name) was two years younger and, in Zacharie's opinion, twice as talented as her brother, a dancer and actress born with pointe shoes on her feet and the world in her hands. She would be playing the princess in her school's production of The Frog Prince next month, and she had made the mask so that Zacharie could help her with her lines.

"Not that she needed the help," Zacharie said, lying back on Batter's bed with his fingers laced behind his head. Batter sat beside him, trying to ignore the way this made the boy's jumper ride up, exposing a strip of smooth, golden skin. "She's made for the part. She's always been able to see something beautiful in everything. 'Think of something beautiful, Zacharie,' she'd say. 'Think of it really hard, and maybe you will see it tomorrow.'" He laughed softly. "Sometimes it isn't so easy to do that. But other times…" Zacharie glanced at him and laughed again, causing a strange swooping sensation in Batter's chest. "Other times I think she should have been the older one. She always was a wiser soul than I."

Batter had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. He didn't care that he hadn't met Sugar; there was simply no way that there could be a wiser soul than Zacharie.

He had a brother, as well; two-year-old Hugo, whose favourite food was roast ham and who loved nothing more than to drive his parents to utter distraction by banging away at the tiny red xylophone Zacharie had given him for his birthday.

"He's been getting better, though," Zacharie said. "He has mum's ear for it. If you listen very carefully, you can almost make out a tune. Sometimes." He looked at Batter, and after a moment of trying and failing to keep their faces straight they both burst out laughing. Judge, who had deigned to accompany Zachary this time, shot them a disgusted look from Enoch's chair.

"Shh, shhh," Zacharie managed through his laughter, elbowing himself into a sitting position. "Someone's coming, I'd better go."

Batter sobered at once. "You'll be here tomorrow though, right?"

Zacharie gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder as he stood. "Death couldn't keep me away, amigo."

He spoke in his usual cheery way, but that didn't stop the cold, prickly feeling that crawled into the hairs on the back of Batter's neck at the morbid words. They were in a hospital, after all. People died here every day. For all Batter knew, he could be seeing the masked boy for the last time. The thought was enough to make Batter throw his arms around Zacharie for the second time that day, but this time Zacharie did not seem surprised. He hugged Batter back, wordlessly.

"Zacharie?"

"Hm?"

"What's the beautiful thing you think of? The thing that gets you through each day in this shithole of a place."

Zacharie didn't answer. He just laughed softly as he pulled away from the hug and went to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he called over his shoulder. "Okay, amigo?"

Batter nodded, and when Judge leaped off the chair to follow his companion out the door, the grin he turned on him seemed wider than usual.

It wasn't until much, much later that Batter realised Zacharie may have answered his question after all.


	9. Chapter 9

"How about you tell me some more about Zacharie, son? Have you seen him again?"

There were grease stains on Enoch's tie. Batter stared at them.

"Not talking again? Hm."

"No, I'm talking. Just not to you. Not about him."

Enoch scribbled something. His fingers were shiny; they slipped on the plastic casing of the pen, and he had to pause to wipe them on his pants. Batter suppressed a shudder.

"And why's that, son?"

"You lied to me. Zacharie is real, he's one of your patients."  _You asshole_ , he added silently.  _You colossal, greasy asshole…_

"He told you this?"

"Yeah, he did." Batter spoke defiantly. After yesterday, there was no longer any doubt in his mind that Zacharie was real. There was no way Batter's flawed mind could conceive someone like Zacharie; it simply wasn't possible. How could he have invented another boy's entire life story when he couldn't summon the brain power necessary to do a few pages of maths?

Enoch heaved a sigh. "You must know how this sounds, son."

"I don't care how it sounds!" Batter was almost shouting now. "Admit it! Zacharie is real, here's here, in this hospital, and you're his therapist! You call him son just like you do me, and he hates it just as much as I do! You aren't his father, and you certainly aren't mine, so shut. The fuck.  _Up_."

Enoch regarded him silently, for a long moment. Batter's breath was coming in ragged gasps, and it was a while before he realised that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He swiped at them angrily.

"I've upset you," Enoch said at last. "My apologies. It was not my intention. But you know very well that I cannot divulge information about my patients to anyone; especially not to other patients."

Batter said nothing. He was furious at Enoch, yes, but more so at himself for crying, for showing weakness in front of his detestable therapist. It wasn't like him. Everything was all wrong.

"However, I think it would be best if you did not see Zacharie again," Enoch continued gently. He closed his notebook, and the chair complained as he stood up. "I will speak to the Doctor…"

Batter watched him go, dispassionately. Enoch's words didn't worry him, and the Doctor didn't scare him. They could do what they wanted; Zacharie would still come. 'Death couldn't keep me away,' he had said, and Batter was done with doubting. If Zacharie said he would be here, he'd be here.

_He'll be here…_

The afternoon came and went, and the hands of the clock on the wall moved idly past the time that usually heralded the masked boy's arrival. Darkness fell outside the window. Batter dutifully swallowed his evening meds, noting with a strange, detached feeling that their number had increased by two since his last dosage. It didn't matter; the meds might keep the voices at bay, but Zacharie was flesh and blood, he was real, and  _he would be here_ …

Batter stretched out on his side, facing the door.

_He'll be_ …  _h_ …

He caught himself just as his eyes were about to close. His whole body felt heavy and dull, but he had to stay awake… what was it Zacharie's sister had said? Think of something beautiful, really hard, and maybe you will see it tomorrow. But what good would thinking do, if tomorrow was too late?

The door opened.

"Zach'rie?" Batter murmured, half sitting up.

" _Hola, amigo_ ," Zacharie answered. "Sorry I'm late." He sounded exhausted. He sat down by Batter's knees, adjusting his mask slightly. His fingers trembled.

"Jesus, Zacharie, are you alright?" Batter levered himself upright.

Zacharie nodded, trying for his familiar laugh. It turned into a cough.

"Jesus," Batter repeated. "You aren't getting sick, are you?"

"Not sure," Zacharie croaked. God he sounded awful.

"Maybe you should-"

"I'm not going to leave," Zacharie said shortly. "I just… need to rest a bit."

Batter hesitated. Then, wordlessly, he shifted so that he was sitting next to Zacharie and put his arm around the smaller boy. Zacharie let his head fall against Batter's shoulder, letting out a long breath.

"I was telling you about the  _Golfe du Lion_ , wasn't I?" he asked.

"You don't have to," Batter said quickly. "If you want to rest."

"No, no, I'd like to. Have you ever seen the sea, Batter?"

"No, I haven't." Batter paused. "I've never been anywhere really. My father didn't like to travel."

"That's a shame. It's wild and cold, but incredibly beautiful. You should go sometime."

"Maybe I can visit you there, when we both get out of this place."

Zacharie laughed, a tired sound. "I'd like that. Then perhaps I could come to one of your games."

"Yeah."

They sat like that a while longer, in comfortable silence. Batter's eyelids began to droop again. Zacharie's body was incredibly warm against his, and the heat made him drowsy.

"You asked me once why I wear this mask," Zacharie said at length. He sounded as sleepy as Batter felt.

"It doesn't matter," Batter said.

"It's because of Sugar," Zacharie went on, as if Batter hadn't spoken. "I'm… afraid. Afraid that I'll forget her. The mask… it makes me feel closer to her. Silly, isn't it."

"No," said Batter, with more conviction than he had ever felt about anything in his life. "It isn't silly at all. You'll see her when you get out of here, right? And Hugo, and your mother and father too."

It was a long moment before Zacharie answered, and when he did his voice was quieter than Batter had ever heard it. "Yes, you're right." He coughed, and Batter automatically held him a little tighter.

In another time, in another place, Batter might have been jealous that Zacharie had so much to go home to, when Batter himself had so little. But now he only felt a deep and overwhelming sadness for the masked boy. He wondered how long he had been in the hospital, away from his family, that he feared forgetting them altogether. He understood now why Zacharie's eyes had seemed so mournful when he spoke of them.

Judge meowed. Batter looked down. Once again, he hadn't even realised the cat was there.

Zacharie lifted his head slightly. "Really?" he asked hoarsely. "You're sure?"

The cat meowed again.

"Alright. Batter, the Judge wishes you to know his true name. It's Pablo."

Batter blinked. He had a feeling that this was something of a big deal, but he had no idea what he was meant to say. He settled for a simple, "Oh."

Pablo grinned at him.

"He also wishes me to inform you," Zacharie went on, "that you are very nearly tangible enough for him to engage with directly."

Oh yeah. He'd almost forgotten that he was nothing but a figment of the cat's imagination. Whatever that meant.

"Uh, okay? That's… good to know, I guess."

"I should go," Zacharie said suddenly, shrugging away from Batter's arm. It seemed to take all his strength to push himself off the bed, and when he reached the door he had to stop and lean against it while he caught his breath.

"See you tomorrow?" Batter asked, getting to his feet. Pablo twined himself around his legs, purring like an engine.

Zacharie didn't answer.

"Zacharie?" Batter's heart began to pound against his ribs, so hard it hurt.

"A…  _adiós, amigo_ ," Zacharie said quietly.

"What? Zacharie, no…"

Batter reached for him, but his hand closed on empty air. He caught the door as it swung closed, tore it open, and stepped out into the cold white corridor.

"Zacharie?"

The corridor was deserted. Batter's heartbeat roared in his ears.

"If I were you," said a voice near his feet, "I should take a more proximal perusal of the latest additions to your daily apothecary."

Batter looked down. Pablo was grinning up at him, his thin tail waving languidly.

_Oh no. No, no, no_. Batter backed away as quickly as he could without tripping, feeling blindly behind him for the handle to his door. He found it, stumbled backwards into his room, and kicked the door shut on the white cat's grinning face. Then he sat down heavily on his bed, and let his head fall into his hands.

Just what the hell was going on?


	10. Chapter 10

In the early hours of the morning, Batter finally gave up on any hope of sleep. He pulled off the ridiculous hospital gown and began to look for his clothes. If he had to sit in this room a moment longer, he'd lose it; he had to know that Zacharie was real, and he had to know it  _now_.

So after fishing his shoes out from beneath the bed and retrieving his cap from a drawer, Batter stepped out into the corridor and set off for the next ward over. That was where Zacharie had said the mysterious 'disturbance' was the other day, so it seemed as good a place to start as any.

The hospital was quiet; Batter's footsteps echoed weirdly and his heart pounded so loudly that he feared someone might hear it, but the few times he saw a Magnolia or doctor they were reasonably far off and he managed to duck out of sight in time. His skin was slick with cold sweat and he was breathing heavily by the time he reached the large pressurised doors to the next ward. There was a sign to the left of the doors. Batter forced himself to read it.

_Unité des Brûlés._ Burn Ward.

Batter clapped a hand to his mouth, tears stinging his eyes.  _Oh god, Zacharie_ …

_I never knew…_

_I never even_ thought…

But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn't even know if Zacharie was in there. For all Batter knew, he could be on the opposite side of the hospital. Though, somehow, Batter had a feeling that he was in the right place. That phantom itch was back, and it was telling him to walk through those doors.

His fears were confirmed when, a moment later, the doors hissed open. Batter dove out of sight behind a nearby sculpture, just as two Magnolias came out of the ward. One was holding what looked like an empty cat-food bag.

"I don't understand how he keeps getting back in," she was saying. "It's bizarre! And the way he grins…"

"I know what you mean," the other said. "I'd get rid of him myself if he wasn't so good for the patients."

Batter's heart quickened again. They were talking about Pablo; they had to be! The doors began to close. It was now or never. As soon as the nurses had passed out of sight, Batter steeled himself and darted through the doors. They almost caught him, but by sucking his gut in he managed to squeeze through. He was in!

Moving quickly now, he set off down the hallway, peeking into each room as he passed by. Most of the beds were empty; one was occupied in the third room, but by a sunken-looking woman with bandages on her arms. Her eyes were closed, and Batter passed by as quickly and quietly as he could so as not to wake her.

He slowed down as he neared the last room. If Zacharie was in this ward, this is where he would be. Batter took a deep breath. He shouldn't be doing this. But he had to know.

He looked in. There was someone sitting up in the bed on the far side of the room, nearest the window; a boy with tousled black hair. He was facing the wall, talking quietly to someone Batter could not see.

After a moment of searching, Batter's eyes found a familiar shape. But it wasn't covering the boy's face. It was lying on the bed, next to his knees. A pale, papier-mâché frog mask with a painted grin.

_Zacharie_.

Relief exploded behind Batter's eyes like a blossoming rose. He was real.

"You really think he'll- wait,  _what_?"

Zacharie's shoulders tensed, and Batter's breath caught in his throat as a venomous hiss went up. He began to back away, but it was too late. Pablo had seen him!

In a flurry of movement, Zacharie grabbed his mask and turned to face him, holding it in place without bothering with the ribbon.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. His voice was even hoarser than it had been yesterday. "Get out!"

The shout hit Batter like a slap to the face. He had never heard anyone sound so furious. "I-"

Zacharie's eyes flashed dangerously. "GET OUT!" he screamed. His voice cracked, and he dissolved into a violent coughing fit. As Pablo began to yowl like a cat possessed, Batter turned and ran.

He didn't stop running until he was back in his own room with the door shut firmly behind him. He leant against it, chest heaving as he pressed his fists against his eyes, trying desperately to hold back the tears. He knew if he let them fall now, he might not be able to stop. Everything was unravelling…

And it was all his fault. He should have just let it be. He had doubted, he had gone too far, and he had ruined everything. Just like he always did. Only this time, he stood to lose the one thing he had ever cared about in the slightest. It was a loss that Batter could already feel, like a cancer eating away at his heart; a loss that he knew would simply be too great to bear, even for him. He had lost so much in his life that he should be used to it by now, but somehow he could imagine nothing worse than losing Zacharie, a boy whom he had known for a measly four days and yet had made such a home for himself in Batter's heart that he could not bear the thought of living another day without him.

Of course, it was stupid to think that Zacharie felt the same. He had brought so much colour into Batter's life, but Batter could not have been more than one uninteresting speck among thousands in Zacharie's. To think otherwise would be madness.

But that was Batter through and through, wasn't it? Enoch and Dedan could throw as many words at him as they liked – delusion, hallucination, schizophrenia – but in the end, it all meant that he was crazy. Broken. Dangerous.

_Unlovable_.

Batter's breathing finally began to slow. He no longer felt the urge to weep, or scream, or break something as he had before. He felt numb. Slowly, woodenly, he pulled his hands away from his eyes and began to get changed into his hospital gown.

Later, when the Magnolia came to give him his pills, he swallowed them without a sound. When she left, he walked to the bathroom, stuck his fingers down his throat, and coughed the hateful things back up. He repeated this process mechanically each time they came to dose him, and by the end of the day his head felt clearer than it had in months.

He wasn't even surprised when Pablo pushed his way into his room and told him, quite clearly, to get dressed. He had been expecting him, after all.

 


	11. Chapter 11

"I apologise for my cacophonous caterwauling earlier," said Pablo, sitting down in front of Batter and wrapping his tail delicately about his feet. "I must admit that your presence in that lieu took me quite by surprise. How did you come to discern our whereabouts, if I may be so audacious as to inquire?"

"A lucky guess," Batter said shortly. "What are you doing here?"

The very tip of Pablo's tail began to twitch. "I require your assistance with matters of an ectoplasmic nature."

"And why should I help you?"

The cat's tail was well and truly thrashing now. "I believe that Zacharie is in peril."

Batter's heart gave a painful twist. "What?"

"This may be the ultimate opportunity for you to confer with him in this mortal lieu," Pablo went on. "If you acquiesce, I will take you to him so that you may fulfil your concluding verbal transaction."

The cat's words moved sluggishly through Batter's brain. "Zacharie… wants to talk to me? Even after-"

"Yes, yes!" Pablo interrupted, leaping up and beginning to pace back and forth. "This morning's proceedings were indeed regrettable, but they were a consequence of an absence of virtuous judgement on all our parts! We may ruminate on past regressions when time is not of such vital essence. Now, will you come, or will you not?"

Batter chewed his lip. Zacharie needed his help; that much at least he had been able to gather from Pablo's convoluted ramblings. What Pablo thought he would be able to do was another question entirely. But he had to try. He owed Zacharie that much, didn't he?

"Alright," he said at last. "What do I have to do?"

"Impeccable!" the cat exclaimed. "Clothe yourself in battle vestments post haste and arm yourself well, for those rags and tatters upon your most noble person will not aid you in the quest on which you are about to depart."

"Okay, okay," Batter said, scrambling for his clothes. A quest… he was going on a quest, with a talking cat, to rescue a boy he had known for fewer days than he had fingers on one hand. At least he couldn't complain of being bored any more. This situation was many things, but boring was definitely not one of them.

"You will need your weapon, valiant protagonist that you are," Pablo reminded him as he struggled into a shoe.

" _What_?"

"The bat, the bat!" the cat cried, running over to it. "Take it up, and let us away!"

"Right." Batter finally managed to get his shoe on and retrieved the bat from beside his bed.

"Unimpeachable," Pablo said, as Batter shouldered his 'weapon'. He trotted over to the door and nosed at it impatiently. "Now, open this portal so that we may proceed. Ah, but before you do," he added, "I should inform you of what you are about to face. It will likely be unlike anything you have experienced before."

"You might be surprised," Batter murmured.

"I would indubitably be surprised. You are about to enter a lieu neither here nor there, where present, past, and future meld and bleed one into another, and where memories wander like mournful phantasms indistinguishable from reality. If you really wish to locate Zacharie, you must be prepared to fight your way to him through a world most grotesque. I will endeavour to aid you insofar as my feline abilities allow, but I must stress most emphatically that it will be perilous in the extreme. Do you still wish to proceed?"

Batter was silent.

"If you do not," Pablo continued, "I will leave you, and you may continue with your existence unhindered by either myself or Zacharie. You have my word that you will see neither of us again. What is your decision?"

Batter's fingers tightened around the bat, and he swallowed. "Is this… real?"

The cat turned that disturbing grin on him. "Indubitably so."

Batter nodded stiffly. "Yes. I'll come."

"Very well. Prepare yourself, then, and when you are ready, you may open the door. But once you do, I fear there will be no turning back."

Batter nodded again. "Right." He took hold of the door handle, marvelling at how steady his hand was.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Pablo said, just as Batter was about to press down. "Zacharie wished for me to convey these words to you in the event that you acquiesce to my proposal. They are as follows: ' _Bis Vincit, Qui Se Vincit In Victoria_ '. That is all."

Ha. Trust Zacharie to give him advice in a language he couldn't speak. "And what does that mean?"

"My Latin is somewhat rusty," the cat admitted, "but I believe the literal translation would be something akin to 'he conquers twice who conquers himself in victory'. Why Zacharie desired that you know this is, however, beyond me. I am but a humble feline, after all. Now, I believe that concludes the preamble to our adventures. If you would be so kind…"

Right. Batter took a deep breath, opened the door, and followed Pablo out into the hallway.

"Ah, just as I expected," the cat sighed. "How distasteful. Do watch your step, the floor is somewhat irregular… Oh dear."

Batter finished vomiting and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "What is this place?" he groaned, trying not to look too closely at, well, anything. It was definitely the corridor outside his room, but it was… changed. The walls were the colour and texture of gangrenous flesh, and they were, for want of a better word, breathing. Pulsating wetly, as if with the beat of some monstrous heart. The floor, when he could bring himself to take a few steps, was sticky, and the air was damp and fetid. There was a fevered sweetness to the smell, but not a pleasant sweetness. Batter felt another wave of bile begin to rise in his throat.

"This, O dauntless champion, is the grotesque labyrinth where the phantasms of this lieu reside. You will find Zacharie at its heart."

Okay. That didn't seem so difficult. The burn ward wasn't too far away from here, right? He could be in and out within half an hour. "Right," he said, finally regaining control of his guts. "Let's go then." He set off in the direction of the burn ward, steadfastly ignoring the way the floor squelched wetly beneath his shoes.

Pablo ran ahead of him. "As commendable as your sally-forth attitude is, I would advise caution. Things may not be as they are in the physical plane, and we are not alone here. Your nature is foreign to this place; as such, its denizens will be drawn to you."

Well. That didn't sound good. The place seemed deserted so far, but with Batter's luck that wouldn't last long. And to make matters worse, he soon found himself hopelessly lost. The bizarre, fleshy walls were completely featureless, and as Batter made turn after fruitless turn he began to realise that this was not going to be as simple a task as he had thought.

"I thought you were supposed to  _guide_  me," he hissed at Pablo as they passed by the same patch of rotting flesh for the third time.

"Alas, I fear I am not as familiar with this place as I may have led you to believe," Pablo admitted. "It is a projection of  _your_  mind, after all. But this is no time for finger-pointing! Weapon at the ready; a spectre approaches!"

Pablo darted away, leaving Batter to his fate. Heart in his mouth, Batter raised his bat, gripping it so tightly his knuckles stood out white. Dragging footsteps were approaching; something was about to round the corner, and when it did, Batter would be the first thing it saw. He pressed himself against the slick wall, readying himself to face-

The bat went limp in his hands. No, this couldn't be right! That wasn't a monster, it was his-

"Dad?" Batter whispered. No way, no way, it couldn't be…

His father's sunken eyes locked onto him. A thin wheeze escaped his lips.

"Hhh… hello, son."


	12. Chapter 12

After an initial moment of shock spent standing with his only weapon dangling stupidly at his side, Batter's senses returned and he scrambled to get the bat into a more threatening position.

"Stay back!" he yelled, as bravely as he could. He wasn't ready for this. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Pablo had warned him about monsters, but this… how could he fight his own memories?

The thing that looked like his father, that was wearing his clothes and using his voice – but couldn't be, because his father was dead, had been dead and buried for nearly six years – regarded him with eyes so hollow he could barely make them out. Did it even have eyes at all? Batter didn't know. The thing was swaying slightly, and something seemed wrong about the way it was standing, as though it were being held up by an invisible rope…

_Oh, god_. Batter's stomach twisted and his arms trembled as he fought desperately against another wave of bile. He could feel it, hot and sour at the back of his throat. The spectre dragged itself closer, a steady, breathy wheeze issuing from its dark, uneven gash of a mouth, and Batter could not make his body move, could only stare as his father's corpse drifted eerily towards him, its neck twisting at an impossible angle.

"You shouldn't… hhh… be here," it sighed, lifting a papery hand and reaching for Batter's face. Immobile, Batter could only close his eyes, tears trembling on his eyelashes. "Don't… want… to hhhurt… you…"

The thing's fingers were cold and dry where they brushed against his cheek, and Batter screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his life as he finally swung the bat, feeling the shock run up his arms electrifying every muscle and nerve as wood met skull with a sickening crunch. His eyes flew open just in time to see the spectre's head explode, showering the walls and floor with stinking black viscera.

"Ha!" Batter panted, filled with a sudden bizarre exhilaration as the thing's decapitated remains toppled backwards. "That's what you get for pretending to be my dad, you scum! Did you see that, Judge?" he added, half-turning to grin breathlessly at the cat, whose nose had appeared around the corner at the end of the corridor.

"Most impressive," Pablo replied, "but I'm afraid your victorious vocalisations are a tad premature. If you would be so kind as to turn around…"

Batter did as he was told.

"Oh, Jesus," he swore, hefting his bat for another swing. The corpse was on its feet again. He hadn't even heard it move! Whatever invisible rope had been holding it up before was still there, but that first blow must have damaged it somehow; its limbs twitched and jerked bizarrely, like a puppet with tangled strings. The thing was hissing like meat on a spit, and as Batter watched in horrified fascination thick black smoke began to splutter and then gush almost volcanically from the ruins of its neck.

Then, with speed as unnatural as it was sudden, it launched itself towards him. Batter had barely enough time to swing his weapon before it was on him, tearing blindly at him with hands that had lengthened into hard black claws. Pain burst in great red flowers across his vision and he let out a yell as a claw caught his side and sent him sprawling across the slick floor. Batter's head connected with the wall and he saw stars, but somehow, impossibly, he managed to keep a hold of his bat. In other second the thing was on him again, hissing and haemorrhaging smoke and clawing, clawing viciously and blindly, and Batter didn't know how he did it but suddenly their positions were inverted and he was slamming the bat down onto the spectre's ribcage, again and again until it ruptured and bled thick, thick black blood. One last blow broke open the thing like a Christmas cracker, and he had to shield his eyes as a final burst of hot black smoke roared out of the ruined husk.

"Well done, my friend," said a voice near his left leg. "Perhaps now you understand the gravity of the situation."

Batter nodded weakly, the back of his hand still pressed against his eyes. Why was it wet? Was he crying? He shouldn't be crying. Crying was stupid and pointless and it never changed anything. He took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, trying not to look too closely at the thing on the floor. It was already beginning to crumble into dark, damp ashes, as though whatever had been making it move had been all that was holding it together, and now, with that presence gone, the weight of its impossible existence was too much to bear.

A stab of pain wrenched Batter from his thoughts, so sudden and intense that his bat clattered to the floor and his vision blurred.

"What-?" He looked unsteadily down. A dark red stain was spreading with horrifying rapidity across the side of his shirt, following the line of his ribs. In another moment he had joined his bat on the floor, with no memory of how he had come to be there. The world seemed sluggish and unreal. Where was he? What was happening?

"Tsk tsk," came a voice from somewhere impossibly far away. "You have rather over-stretched yourself, noble purifier – and so early in your quest, too."

Pablo's face swam into view. Batter stared at him uncomprehendingly, blood welling between his fingers.

"I will tend to your wounds, if you permit it?" the cat purred, grinning in what might have been meant as a reassuring way. Batter nodded slowly. His head felt strange, empty and yet incredibly heavy all at once. It occurred to him, as he peeled back the hem of his blood-soaked shirt with fingers that didn't seem to have bones, or had forgotten what bones were for, that he might be dying. But no, that was stupid, this wasn't real. People didn't die in dreams… did they?

Then Pablo's tongue was on the deep cut to his side and any thoughts Batter might have had were wiped out by the pain. His fingers scrabbled uselessly on the slick floor, he bit his tongue and  _writhed_ , but Pablo kept licking, purring like an engine as he worked his way along the ugly wound. Gradually the pain dulled to an ache and then to an almost pleasant warmth, and Batter let his head fall back against the wall with a sigh. If this is dying, he thought, it isn't bad at all…

"Now, now, no time for that!" Pablo said abruptly, as Batter's eyelids began to droop. "We have barely begun our journey through this lieu, and too much time has already been spent injudiciously. On your feet at once!"

Batter groaned, but managed to lever himself more or less upright. At least that screaming agony across his ribs had subsided. He probed gingerly along the line of the wound, and found that not only had the pain disappeared but the edges of the cut had knit together, leaving only an angry red scar. Batter traced the mark in disbelief, before looking up at Pablo.

"How did you do that?" he demanded.

Pablo merely curled and recurled his tail in a cat's equivalent of a shrug. "We cats have many talents. But that is not of import! Really, you are so easily distracted." With that he leapt up and trotted away down the corridor, leaving Batter with little choice but to follow. He sure as hell wasn't going to stay  _here_. The thing that had attacked him was little more than a dark stain on the floor now; Batter made sure to give it a wide berth as he passed.

Pablo was waiting at the end of the corridor. He gave Batter an odd look as he drew up, and asked: "That spectre… it was familiar to you, was it not?"

"Yeah," Batter replied dully. "It was my dad. Something that looked like him, anyway," he added impatiently; he wasn't sure he liked the way that damn cat was staring at him. "What? Do we have to talk about this right now? I thought we were in a hurry!"

"Hm, indeed," Pablo nodded. "I only wondered… but what of this smoke? Do you possess any memories involving the substance?"

Batter glanced up. The smoke from the spectre had settled in a greasy cloud just above their heads, obscuring the ceiling. He wrinkled his nose. "Ugh… no, I don't think so."

"Hm," Pablo said again. "Interesting." His tail thrashed against the floor, once, twice.

"You don't seem pleased," Batter said warily. "What's wrong with the smoke?"  _And do I really want to know? Probably not. Damn._

"It means that we have considerably less time that I previously supposed," Pablo said, starting off again with as much purpose as was ever contained in the small body of an emaciated cat.

"And what does  _that_  mean?" Batter asked, following with equal parts exasperation and trepidation.

"It means, heroic companion, that your quest has become both a great deal more complicated, and infinitely more dangerous," the cat called over his shoulder. "It seems that Zacharie has also entered the labyrinth. Now, you will have to confront not only the spectres of your own mind, but of his as well."

Batter could have laughed. The whole situation just kept getting madder and madder. How could he have ever thought this would be  _easy_? Just when he thought he had everything figured out, something came along and turned the whole damn lot on its head. How was he supposed to find Zacharie if they were  _both_  wandering around this godforsaken maze? And what was this about facing Zacharie's spectres as well as his own? God, he had barely beaten his father's spectre, and if Batter understood the way this place worked there would be far worse things to come. Encountering the demons from Zacharie's past like this… it seemed wrong, an intrusion. But what choice did he have, in the end?

"God damn you, Zacharie," Batter murmured as he walked, the oily black smoke curling into twisted halos above him.

_God damn you for making me love you._


	13. Chapter 13

It was strange to admit that, even if it was only behind the walls of his own mind; that he was in love with a boy he had known for a matter of days. Strange, yet wonderful. But that was how it should be, he supposed. Because Zacharie was just as strange and just as wonderful, wonderful in a way that made Batter feel as if he could fight off any monster, defeat any enemy no matter how terrible, if it meant that he could see the strange, wonderful, beautiful masked boy one last time. It didn't even matter that Zacharie might not feel the same (because how could he? Batter was nothing, nothing). Just knowing that Zacharie was alright would be enough.

In the end Batter didn't know how long he spent fighting his way through the hospital. It could have been days as easily as hours. Though Pablo continued to stress the importance of haste, the longer Batter spent in the labyrinth, the more he began to realise that time didn't seem to work here. And even if it did there was no way to mark its passage, except in the twists and turns of each rotting corridor, the tick of nerve cells firing and the pendulum swing of his bat as he sent it crashing into spectre after terrifying spectre.

They came in droves after that first encounter with the thing that was not his father. At first there were more in that shape; crumpled business suits and necks that twisted wrongly, all wearing his face and using his voice but none of them really him, and they all became that smoking, hissing creature when he struck at them, filling the hallways with the choking black fumes. He quickly learned to dodge their claws and soon he was dispatching them as easily as he would swat a fly, with cold, precise dispassion. Then the others came. Vaporous spectres, some with fangs dripping volatile acid and black chasms where the eyes should be, others with multiple heads that whispered and screamed despite their mouths being sewn tightly shut. Disembodied heads with tangled hair and gaping mouths that shrieked until Batter was sure his own head would explode. Rats the size of Great Danes, covered in rotting fur and open, weeping sores, with breath that caused the walls to bubble and hiss. Huge snake-like creatures that burst out of the floor without warning, their mouths peeling open to reveal hundreds of teeth like twisted steak-knives. Skeletal beings that stood as tall as a man on cloven feet, their backs a writhing mess of fleshy tubes. He fought them all, Pablo yelling encouragements and warnings behind him, his lips pressed into a grim, hard line, his thoughts pinned on Zacharie. Always, always on Zacharie, because if he let them slip he knew they would start to realise why the spectres had his father's shape, why the disembodied heads had the Magnolias' faces, why the shapeless ghosts had no eyes or mouths, and he had neither the time nor the strength for that.

Perhaps that was the reason for what happened next.

"Incomparable!" Pablo was exclaiming, twining himself languidly around Batter's ankles. Batter ignored him. He had heard so many variations of the phrase "Job Well Done" over the past however many hours that he had given up paying any attention to the cat. It might have said "fan-motherfucking-tastic" for all he cared; they were still no closer to finding Zacharie than they had been when this whole mad venture began. He gave the giant rat at his feet a last meaty thwack with his bat. The horrid thing shuddered once, then dissolved into a puddle of stinking black ooze. Batter stepped back quickly, wrinkling his nose in disgust, and shouldered his bat after wiping it on a comparatively clean section of wall. Pablo leaped neatly over the disgusting pool, and Batter followed.

"How much further?" he asked. He could feel tiredness creeping into his bones; every muscle ached in a way that not even Pablo's ambiguously magical tongue could soothe. Thinking of Zacharie could only get him so far; if they didn't find him soon, Batter didn't know – didn't want to imagine – what would happen. But Pablo didn't have a chance to reply; at that moment the floor erupted and one of the snake-spectres came roaring up, mouth open and snapping like a gin-trap. Batter swore and only just managed to get his bat into a defensible position before the dripping fangs snicked shut an inch away from his arm. The cat shot past him, yowling in terror, and Batter readied himself to swing at the thing's great blind head as it reared back, preparing for another strike.

"Come on then," Batter snarled. "Come and get me, you great wormy bas-"

And that was when he saw it. Through the writhing coils of the spectre, a flash of white against the fetid grey-green of the hospital wall. The suggestion of a painted grin. A wayward curl of dark hair. Batter's eyes widened. At the end of the corridor, Zacharie paused and, suspended in slow motion, tilted his head towards Batter as if to say, "Follow me." Then he was gone, and the snake's jaws closed around Batter's arm.

Batter screamed and swung his bat wildly, somehow through the mad red agony managing to thank god that the stupid thing had seized his off arm. Then the spectre began to thrash him from side to side, and it was all Batter could do to deal it one or two glancing blows through the pain and the terror and oh  _god it was going to rip his arm off_. That did it. Finally his bat landed true and staved the beast's skull in, splattering him with blood and brains. The spectre dropped him with a long, screeching hiss and collapsed, slithering wetly back into the hole in the floor. Batter landed heavily on his side, black spots bursting across his eyes.

"Judge!" he yelled, cradling his mangled arm. His bat, where was his fucking bat? It had rolled out of his reach when he had hit the floor, and he hoped to god and the devil that no more spectres were going to appear anytime soon, because if they did, well, he was toast.

Pablo hurried over and quickly set to grooming his arm, a purr rumbling deep in his chest.

"No need to be so happy about it," Batter slurred, as the sting settled into a warm ache.

"I am not happy," Pablo assured him, between licks. "It is an automatic response. It is what we cats do best, after all. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me tend to this without further interruptions… it is quite a bit more severe than I am used to."

Batter grunted and let the cat finish his work in peace. There was a time, not so long ago, when he might have been horrified by the feeling of having his muscle and sinew knit itself together under the guiding hand – or rather, tongue – of a cat, but now the tingling sensation was oddly calming. Perhaps it was the massive blood loss.

"If you do not begrudge my inquisition," Pablo said at length, giving Batter's arm a final cursory lick before sitting back and curling his tail delicately around his feet. "You are not wont, of late, to take such heinous damage. Did something distract you from the phantasm at hand, perhaps?"

"You could say that," Batter said, sitting up and giving his shoulder a tentative roll. "The good news is I know which way to go now." He got to his feet, steadied himself against the wall until the corridor stopped spinning, then went to retrieve his bat.

"Oh?" Pablo's tail began to twitch. "How so?"

"I saw Zacharie," Batter said shortly. "Come on, let's go." He shouldered his bat and without waiting for the cat to follow, he set off down the corridor. It branched into two at the end; Zacharie had taken the left. Just as he was about to charge down it with metaphorical guns blazing, Pablo appeared beside him.

"I would advise caution, my friend," the cat said darkly. "Recall my words: things in this place are seldom what they seem."

Batter resisted the urge to throw his arms up in disgust. "Well what, then? You said Zacharie was in here with us, didn't you? How do you know it wasn't him?"

"I do not," the cat said, with the air of one who has just realised he is speaking to someone incredibly stupid. "That is precisely the problem. Being petulant will do you no good," he added, when Batter made a disgusted noise and strode off down the lefthand corridor. "Your feelings for Zacharie may have led you this far, but take care that they do not cloud your good judgement!"

_Whatever_. Ignoring both the cat and the uncomfortable warmth in his cheeks, Batter continued down the hallway, bat at the ready. This corridor, at least, was different from the others. Darker, danker. Not that that boded well for him, but at least he was finally getting a little variety. There were no corners and no doors; as far as Batter could tell, it went straight on, and on, and on, for god only knew how long. There was too much smoke to tell. He slowed down then, feeling a little less sure of himself. Pablo hadn't followed him, and glancing behind, there was no sign of the small white cat in the gloom. Batter swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Judge?"

His voice sounded so small, and his heart so loud. There was no answer. He was alone. He had made his choice, and now he would face the consequences. Well then. His fingers flexed and tightened around the bat. Nothing else for it.

When he turned back, Zacharie was standing in front of him.


	14. Chapter 14

“Jesus,” Batter swore, almost dropping his bat. “You scared the shit out of me, Zach!”

“My apologies, _amigo_ ,” Zacharie chuckled. “I was not expecting to see you here, either. But I am very glad you are, regardless.”

“Yeah,” Batter said dazedly. “Yeah, me too.” Something was wrong here. Zacharie was right in front of him, close enough to touch, and everything about him was familiar and perfect and real… but instead of the relief he should have felt, there was only a deep, crawling apprehension.

“Something wrong, _amigo_?” Zacharie asked, tilting his head slightly. Had that grinning mask always been so fucking creepy?

“No,” Batter said, too quickly. “It’s nothing, just this place…”

Zacharie bobbed his head understandingly. “Yes, it is quite un- wait, where are you going?”

“I’m getting us out of here,” Batter said shortly, taking Zacharie’s hand as he passed the smaller boy. Pablo had warned him to never try and retrace his steps, no matter how prudent it seemed to do so, so going back to find the cat was out of the question; the next best thing was to keep moving and hope this corridor actually led somewhere. Pablo would catch up with them when he could. Zacharie, however, appeared to have other ideas. He let Batter lead him a few steps before dragging them both to a halt. Batter grunted as he was swung around to face the masked boy once more. “What? Come on, let’s go!”

“Wait,” Zacharie repeated, tightening his grip. Butterflies exploded in Batter’s gut. “Not that way.”

Suddenly Zacharie was standing far too close, and his fingers were incredibly hot where they laced together with Batter’s, and that apprehension was quickly being overwhelmed by something entirely different. “Why… why not?” he managed. God this was so stupid. It was all wrong, he shouldn’t feel-

“Does it matter?” Zacharie asked quietly.

Batter wanted so badly to shake his head and say no, no it doesn’t matter at all, but somehow he forced himself to nod. “Yeah, I think it does.”

Zacharie hummed quietly in his throat. “Dedan’s down there,” he said. “He doesn’t like me very much.” He inclined his head again, fingers tightening around Batter’s. “But you like me,” Zacharie breathed, his knee nudging the inside of Batter’s leg ever so slightly, yet with enough pressure to send lines of fire into the taller boy’s core and draw a sharp intake of breath from between his clenched teeth. “Don’t you, Batter?”

His voice was silk on fire, like a razor dipped in honey, and this time Batter couldn’t help himself. He nodded like a helpless puppet.

Zacharie’s free hand came up and he hooked a finger teasingly under the edge of his mask. “Do you want me, Batter?”

 _Don’t ask stupid questions, Zacharie,_ he wanted to say. _I’ve wanted you from the moment you stepped into my life. God I want you so much it hurts, but not here, not like this…_ But he could only nod again, stupidly, while Zacharie laughed that breathy laugh that shot a bolt of heat into his gut and a cold shiver down his spine and this was wrong, wrong, wrong, and he didn’t want this but how, how could he stop?

“Close your eyes,” Zacharie said, and Batter obeyed. “Keep them closed.” He nodded to show he understood. There was the sound of papier-mâché brushing over skin and hair and then Zacharie’s lips were on his, hot and dry and sweet and oh! Batter gasped and Zacharie’s tongue was in his mouth and Batter was kissing him back, and it was rough and desperate and ugly but he didn’t care. His back was against the wall and he didn’t remember how they had gotten there, and he didn’t care. His bat fell to the floor and rolled away and if a spectre appeared they would both be dead, and he didn’t care. His hands were on Zacharie’s waist and he could feel his warm smooth skin beneath his fingers where the woollen jumper rode up as Zacharie pressed their bodies flush together and moaned against Batter’s mouth and oh Jesus fucking Christ the sounds he was making… and he didn’t care. As Zacharie broke away from Batter’s mouth and started teasing his way down Batter’s neck with lips and teeth and tongue, deft fingers plucking at the buttons of his shirt and playing lightly over his chest, he didn’t care that he was covered in filth and gore and probably stank to the high heavens. He didn’t even care that he couldn’t see Zacharie’s face, see his lips and mouth and _eyes_ …

Eyes.

“Stop,” he gasped, grabbing the boy’s wrist. Batter had always been able to see Zacharie’s eyes, even with the mask on. Smiling eyes the colour of melting chocolate. But not once had he been able to see this Zacharie’s eyes. Just like the spectre of his father, there had been nothing behind those eye-holes but darkness, and that, he realised, had been the reason for his apprehension.

“What?” The spectre asked, dragging its tongue along Batter’s collarbone.

“Stop,” Batter repeated with a shudder, tightening his grip on the thing’s wrist. “You aren’t Zacharie, are you?”

The spectre hummed again. “Almost fooled you though, didn’t I?” It chuckled darkly. Batter’s skin crawled. It was wrong, hearing Zacharie’s laugh from something so foul. “What gave me away?”

“Eyes,” Batter croaked. Oh god, this was bad. Where was his bat? Oh yeah, he’d dropped it again. Now he was going to die because he just couldn’t keep it in his fucking pants. Nice.

“Hmm. Well, that can’t be helped,” the _faux_ -Zacharie was saying. “We can still have a little fun while we’re at it though, can’t we, Batter?” His lips trailed up Batter’s neck and to his ear. “I know you want to,” he purred, tugging playfully at the waistband of Batter’s pants with his free hand. “You want to fuck him. You’re so… _obvious_ ,” he breathed, hot against Batter’s ear, as he slipped his hand into Batter’s pants and began to teasingly stroke his already painfully erect cock. “You won’t find him, you know,” he went on, almost conversationally now, while Batter clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached and dug his fingers into the soft wall behind him and tried to focus on how fucking wrong this was despite how fucking good it felt. “I may not be the real Zacharie, but I’m all his best bits. I’m everything you want about him, everything that seedy mind of yours has conjured up in the long, dark nights, everything you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden. But you don’t have to hide anymore, _amigo_. Not this. Not from me.” The warm breath left Batter’s ear and the _faux_ -Zacharie gently tugged his wrist from Batter’s grasp. Batter hardly noticed, because then that breath was on the head of his cock and every thought, every dwindling protest was wiped out as Zacharie took him into his hot, wet, deliciously tight mouth and began to _suck_.

“You… you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Batter heard himself say, though how he managed to form the words through this haze of revulsion and lust was beyond him and oh god it felt better than he ever could have imagined and it was so fucking _wrong_ -

The _faux_ -Zacharie ran his tongue down Batter’s length and swirled it once around the head, drawing a groan from the taller boy, before replying. “Of course,” he said matter-of-factly. “And I’m going to make sure you love every second of it.” With that he flicked the tip of his tongue over Batter’s slit, before swallowing him to the hilt in such a sudden and sweet envelopment of heat that Batter’s hips bucked as if they had a life of their own and a strangled moan ripped itself from his throat. Zacharie hummed in satisfaction around his cock and began to move, setting up a quick, deep rhythm that soon had Batter biting back even more undignified sounds. As tension began to build and coil in the pit of his stomach, Batter forced himself to think. This was getting ridiculous. He had to get out of here. As much as really didn’t want to look at what was going on near his groin, he had to find his bat. So, praying that the spectre was busy enough sucking him off (oh my _god_ ) that it wouldn’t notice his disobedience, he cracked open an eye and looked down.

The _faux_ -Zacharie was still wearing its mask, and though it was pushed back slightly it was still obscuring the boy’s face. Batter smothered a sigh of relief; if he was going to see Zacharie’s face, it would be by Zacharie’s – the real Zacharie, that is – choice, and no other’s. He had made that mistake once already, and he had no intention of doing so again. In another second he had located the bat, and he was formulating a plan to get himself over to it without losing any important appendages in the process when a sharp stab of pain in his cock cut his train of thought dead in half. What the fuck was that? It had almost felt like…

_Teeth._

_Oh Jesus Christ._

_Faux_ -Zacharie must have felt him tense up because Batter felt him smile, before dragging his incredibly sharp teeth up his length again, lightly, warningly, though still with enough pressure to bring tears to Batter’s eyes.

“I thought I told you,” _faux_ -Zacharie said slowly, giving the head of Batter’s cock a playful nip. Batter yelped in pain and tried to squirm away, only to have Zacharie force his hips back, pinning him against the wall. “To keep.”  His nails dug painfully into Batter’s skin. “Your eyes.” Batter was well and truly panicking now, but his bat was still too far away to reach. Smoke began to curl out from beneath the _papier-mâché_ mask. As Batter watched in horror, the bottom edge of the mask caught alight and began to smoulder, crumbling into damp grey ash. The spectre raised its head and grinned up at Batter with a mouth that stretched almost from ear to ear, bristling with hundreds of needle-like teeth. “Closed,” it finished with a hiss as the remains of its mask burned away in a halo of ash and sparking flame. Dark, empty hollows where Zacharie’s eyes should be stood out stark against the thing’s papery white skin. Batter let out a moan of horror and tried to edge away, and in a flash the spectre was on its feet and had him by the throat.

“Should have done as you were told, _boy_ ,” the creature spat. Batter gasped and struggled, but the hand clamped around his throat was as hard as a vice and terrifying strong. “Do you like what you see, _amigo_? Was it worth it?”

Batter’s lungs burned. His vision began to blur. The spectre’s frog-like mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. And suddenly, Batter was overcome by an incredible rage. How dare it. How dare this filthy spectre pretend to be Zacharie. How dare it wear his face and use his voice and steal his words. How dare it take his shape and try to kill Batter here in this godforsaken place. How dare it try to keep him from his task. He saw it now, so clearly; this was nothing but a distraction, and he had fallen into the labyrinth’s trap, lost precious time that he might not be able to win back. And he was fucking furious.

“Fuck you!” he choked, as the pain in his lungs reached a screaming crescendo and darkness began to pinch in behind his eyes.

“Ha!” the spectre laughed. “You had your chance, sonny, and you blew it. As it very much were,” it added, grinning lewdly. Before Batter could summon the strength to respond, the faux-Zacharie gave his neck a last cruel squeeze before throwing him to the ground. He landed hard on his newly-healed arm and would have yelled in pain had he not been so busy coughing and retching on the sudden rush of smoky air into his starved lungs. It burned like the devil but god, he had never felt anything so good. His relief was short-lived though; in another second faux-Zacharie had him on his back, straddling him, and its claws were pressing down on his throat once more. Batter’s eyes rolled back in his skull and the fingers of his good arm clawed desperately at the slick floor, searching-

 _There_.

As the spectre’s mouth opened wide, gushing smoke and splitting apart like melon full of black rot and knives, Batter caught hold of the end of his bat and swung with all his strength. Black gore rained hot and wet and he gasped as the pressure on his throat was lifted, the faux-Zacharie’s corpse falling brokenly over his legs. Batter kicked his way out from beneath it and scrambled to his feet, coughing and retching, his heart burning and his cheeks wet.

It was a long moment before he realised that his cock was still dangling absurdly out of his pants. He tucked himself back in with a strange, choking laugh, and winced at the pain. No way was he letting Judge anywhere near _that_ particular injury.

Speaking of which, Pablo still hadn’t appeared. Batter wiped the sheen of muck, soot and tears from his forehead and eyes and shouldered his bat. “Guess I’m on my own now,” he said to no one in particular. “Dedan’s office is that way, right?” he added, prodding the _faux_ -Zacharie’s corpse with his foot. The corpse, busily decaying into a malodorous black puddle, did not deign to reply. “Whatever,” Batter sighed. “On with the show, I guess.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

At first the corridor seemed as featureless and unending as ever, and for a moment Batter worried that he had somehow gotten turned around in the fight with the fake Zacharie and was now heading in completely the wrong direction. But then the vague shape of a door loomed out of the smoke, pale against the greasy dark of the hospital walls, and he knew he was in the right place. He quickened his step and in another moment he could read the rusty plaque on the door.

“Dedan,” he read aloud, again to no one in particular. “Right, then.” He paused to wipe some of the grime off his fingers, then closed them around his bat and gave his shoulder an experimental roll. His arm still hurt somewhat, but Pablo had done all he could. It was up to him to make the best of it now. Anyway, Dedan was just a weedy doctor. Nothing scary about that whatsoever; he could be in and out in five minutes, even with a busted arm. No problem.

“No problem,” Batter repeated, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his arm as he reached out and took hold of the door-handle. The metal was so rusted that it crumbled in Batter’s hand, but the door swung open with a hiss and Batter stepped through, pressing the back of his free hand over his nose and mouth as the room’s sickly sweet odour enveloped him. It was the same smell that had permeated the labyrinth outside, only much, much stronger.

The Doctor’s office was lit by a single fluorescent bulb haloed by a cloud of buzzing flies. Some kind of bizarre, fleshy fungus covered the floor and walls, creeping towards the ceiling and the light. It was the colour of a deep-tissue bruise, and it reeked; _guess I found where that smell is coming from_ , he thought dryly.

The Doctor himself was pacing back and forth behind his desk, flipping angrily through some poor soul’s medical file. He didn’t seem to have noticed Batter standing in the doorway. Batter cleared his throat, wondering if he ought to say something before he charged in and took the guy’s head off.

“Fuck off,” Dedan said, without looking at him. “I’m busy.”

So he _had_ noticed him. Batter took a step forward.

“I’m here for Zacharie,” he said, as bravely as he could. “Tell me where he is and I might spare you.” He might _spare_ him? Jesus, this quest thing was really going to his head. Bloody Judge, rubbing his weird way of talking off on him...

The Doctor, ignoring him, continued to pace.

“Hey!” Batter yelled, raising his bat. “I’m talking to you, asshole! Where’s Zacharie?”

“How the bloodshitting fuck should I know, you horrid brat?” the Doctor snapped, tearing a page out of the file he was reading. He crumpled it into a ball and tossed it dismissively at Batter. “I said fuck off.”

Batter dodged the paper easily. “I won’t. Tell me where he is or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Dedan whirled to face him, and Batter saw that he had the same hollow eyes as the spectres. His face was blanched and skull-like, and he gnashed his teeth and spat in fury at Batter’s insolence. “Kill me? Ha! I’d like to see you try, you pathetic worm,” he screeched. The door slammed shut behind Batter and with a horrific cracking and grinding of bone, the Doctor began to grow. His white coat split open with an almost comical scattering of buttons as his ribcage expanded and his hands lengthened into claws. The man’s skull caved in and then pushed out again, jaws snapping like bolt cutters. _So much for a weedy doctor_ , Batter thought wildly, backing into the door and groping for the handle. He couldn’t find it, and a horrified glance behind him told him that the door had vanished. He turned back just in time to see Dedan smash the desk into the wall and advance towards him, roaring abuse. Batter yelped and threw himself sideways, narrowly avoiding a crushing backhand blow from the monstrous doctor. He rolled, somehow got his feet under him, and raised his bat, gritting his teeth against the pain in his arm.

“I’m not afraid of you!”

The Doctor’s head whipped round to face him, black saliva dripping from his jaws.

“Are you completely retarded?” he howled. “You honestly think you can defeat me? You couldn’t defeat _shit_ , you disgusting cretin! You’re nothing but a useless weakling, a pathetic whining runt who gave up any hope of winning the moment you entered this place!” He swiped at Batter again, ripping a chunk of fungus from the wall. Batter leaped onto the ruined desk, trying desperately to think. There was no way he could beat Dedan by force alone; he was way too strong, and when he moved it was with the speed and power of a striking cobra. His only hope was to stall him long enough to figure out a plan.

“Fuck you!” he yelled. “I’ve defeated every shitty spectre this place has thrown at me, and I’ll do the same to you!”

“That’s the fattest crock of monkey shit I’ve ever heard,” Dedan scoffed, lunging forward. “You can’t even defeat your own mind!” His vice-like teeth cracked together where Batter’s head had been a fraction of a second ago; Batter, meanwhile, had dived off the desk and was on the other side of the room. “Oh for the love of- Would you stay still while I’m talking, you little shit?”

“I would, but your breath stinks,” Batter said. He was breathing hard, but grinning. An idea had just occurred to him. He had no idea if it would work, but it was all he had, and he was running out of time. He twirled his bat mockingly. “Come and get me, asshole.”

Dedan roared in frustration and charged towards him, foam and spittle flying from his mouth. Every muscle in Batter’s body tensed and turned to steel as he held himself in place, back against the wall of stinking fungus. As Dedan’s fist plunged towards Batter’s head his eyes met those black holes, and he smiled. He had just enough time to register the look of disbelief and uncertainty that flickered across the Doctor’s face before he twitched aside and the monster’s fist drove itself into the putrid wall. Before he could think to pull himself free, Batter smashed his bat across Dedan’s ankles, bringing him to his knees with an ear-splitting screech.

“Medicate this, motherfucker,” Batter gritted out, bringing the bat down on the Doctor’s head. Thick black blood splattered his face and the room filled with smoke as Dedan’s headless body convulsed and then slumped against the wall. Batter made a disgusted noise and wiped the muck out of his eyes. His arm was _screaming_ … but now it was the kind of pain he could be proud of. He’d done it. He’d beaten Dedan. He looked around and sure enough a door had appeared behind the broken desk. Elation filled his chest. He hurried over to it, pushed the desk out of the way, and threw open the door. Another corridor, exactly the same, but Batter knew not to be discouraged. He could do this. He _would_ do this. He was so close now, he could feel it; that phantom tug on his heart, pulling him, guiding him…

“I’m coming, Zacharie,” Batter murmured as he plunged through the open door and set off down the corridor. “Hold on, just a little longer…”


	16. Chapter 16

A little longer. Ha. Had he really believed such a thing? Had he ever believed it would be easy, that once he beat Dedan it would be straight-shooting to the heart of the maze, that the worst was behind him and that he'd finally be able to speak to Zacharie – the real Zacharie that is – face to face? He didn't know. Somehow it seemed unlikely. In fact he was beginning to think that there had never been anything before the labyrinth, before the running and fighting, the black blood and the red rage and slick grain of wood against his palm, and the howls and screams of the spectres as they died… and the smoke, always, always the smoke. Nothing else seemed real anymore; his mother, his house, school, the hospital, all of it had become monotone and edgeless, as if he had been asleep and dreaming all along and now, finally, he had woken up. The only thing still pinning him to that time  _before_  was the feeling that somewhere in this place Zacharie was looking for him, just as Batter was for Zacharie. That feeling wound around his heart like an intangible red ribbon, and every now and then it tugged as though it could sense that Zacharie was near. But no matter how fiercely it tugged, no matter how quickly Batter turned or ran or how hard he wished, he never saw more than a glimpse of the masked boy, a fleeting ghost at the edge of his vision, or sometimes the suggestion of a distant voice calling Batter's name. Whenever he chased that snatch of white jumper or the edge of a painted smile, the thing waiting for him around the corner was never Zacharie. It would look like him, yes, and talk like him, but its eyes were dead and when he broke its body open it would be filled with nothing but smoke and grave worms.

Still, sometimes killing them was not so easy.

_"Don't leave me again, Batter," the spectre whimpered, trembling as it hugged itself as though the thought was physically painful. "Don't leave me alone. I'm so alone, Batter, I hate this place. Why did you leave?"_

_"I…" Batter hesitated. "I didn't, I never did!"_

_"You did," it sobbed, almost doubled over now. "I tried to follow but you were gone, and it was so cold and then I was here, and I couldn't find you… oh god, amigo why did you leave me?"_

_What was this? Ever since that first encounter, the fake-Zacharies had done nothing but spew insults and accusations at him. But this… this was different. Was it talking about that time in the burn ward? Batter had thought that these false Zacharies were nothing but cheap imitations, spat out by the labyrinth to test and torment him, but there was so much pain in this one's voice that he was forced to wonder… how much of the true Zacharie's thoughts and memories had they retained?_

_The spectre continued to sob, and Batter found himself taking a step towards it, whether to kill or console even he did not know. Guilt twisted like a knife in his heart as he brought his bat up._

_"I'm… sorry," he said quietly. The bat came down, and smoke stung his eyes._

That had been a while ago, and he hadn't seen any fake-Zacharies since. He had neither the inclination nor the energy to wonder why. Now he sat against the wall, tiredness pulling at his bones and blood dripping sluggishly from a gash across his cheek. He finished wrapping a strip of his shirt around the ugly gouge on his thigh, wincing as blood spread across the stained fabric. With no Judge around to heal him with magical feline abilities, he'd had to make do with what little he knew about first aid. After practically living in a hospital for so long, you tended to pick up a few things. He knotted the ends of the makeshift bandage and pushed himself to his feet, biting down on a gasp as the movement sent a bolt of pain through his injured leg.  _Fuck_. He eased his weight onto it gingerly, hissing through his teeth. It hurt, but the pain was bearable. At least he wouldn't have to hobble around using his bat as a cane. He'd been worried about that.

Satisfied, Batter looked up at the door in front of him. He had stumbled across it completely by accident, and he would have opened it already had he not been ambushed by another of those  _fucking snake-creatures_. God those were a pain in the ass. It had grabbed his leg and he had bashed its brains in for the trouble, and now it was quietly dissolving back into the hole from whence it came. Batter cast a smug look into the gaping wound in the floor as he stepped around it and made his way to the door.

"Enoch," he read off the plaque, not even bothering to act surprised. Of course it was fucking Enoch. At least he wouldn't be much of a challenge; the greasy fuck probably got winded just getting up from his chair. He shouldered the door open, smirking to himself despite the pain in his leg.

The cancerous smell of burnt sugar hit Batter like a slap to the face. There was none of that weird fungus here; the whole room was burnt out, the walls black and peeling. A fine, slightly sticky layer of ash coated the floor and clung to Batter's shoes. A single broken light bulb flickered sporadically, swinging in a non-existent breeze and throwing bizarre shadows onto the walls. The door began to close and he quickly wedged it open with his foot; no way was he getting trapped in a room with a monster a second time.

Enoch sat behind his desk, his fingers laced together beneath his enormous collection of chins. He grinned toothily at Batter with a lipless mouth, a dark, weeping crater at each corner and empty holes where his eyes should be.

"So," he began conversationally, "I see you've made it here. What a shame to have come so far for nothing, hmm?"

Batter glared at him. "Nothing? I'm going to kill you. I'd say that's a damn sight more than  _nothing_."

The desk shook with the force of Enoch's laughter. "Kill me? Me? Preposterous. You could never. You are tiny, ant-like, insignificant! And I," Enoch's chest and belly swelled with grotesque pride. "I am devastatingly large. You'll never defeat me."

"Whatever. Where's Zacharie?"

Something glinted in the dark recesses of Enoch's eyes. "Oh? Still chasing that old bone, are we? What makes you think he wants to be found – by you, that is?"

"What are you talking about?" God how he wanted to wipe that smug, self-satisfied look off the monster's face.

"What could you possibly have to offer him?" Enoch went on. "Look at you! Filthy to the bone, and utterly filled with rage. Have you not wondered why he runs from you? Oh yes," he said unctuously, as Batter's eyes widened in horror. "I know all about that. Would you like me to tell you why, hmm?"

"No," Batter rasped. "You're a liar. You always were! Shut up!"

Enoch tut-tutted disapprovingly. "Now now Batter, we both know that isn't true. I'll tell you. It is because he is afraid."

"No…"

"He has seen what you've done."

"Stop it!"

"You killed your father, Batter," Enoch said, shaking his head sadly. "Zacharie saw that. You killed Zacharie, too."

Batter was shaking. "No, it wasn't real, I didn't-"

"He has every reason to be afraid."

"No! I would never-"

"Oh, it's far too late for that," Enoch sighed. "You see… you already have. You are dangerous, Batter. I think it would be best if you never left this place." He began to rise and swell, the desk disappearing under his rapidly inflating girth with a muffled splintering sound. "Behold!" Enoch roared. "In this place I am akin to a god! You will not escape me, you puny wretch!"

"Oh  _shit_!" Batter swore, ducking to the side as one of Enoch's massive arms came crashing down where he had just been standing. With Batter's foot out of the way the door began to close again, and as Enoch's arm came around for another swipe Batter rolled out of the way and, without thinking, jammed it open with his bat.

 _I need a weapon_ , was his first desperate thought, followed by  _oh Jesus Christ_  as a meaty hand latched onto to his ankle and swung him against the far wall. The back of his head met the burnt skin with a resounding  _crack_ , sending a bolt of pain down his spine and through his leg before he crumpled to the floor. He had barely enough time to register the blurred shape of the monster advancing towards him before Enoch seized him again, by the arm this time, and flung him against the  _other_  wall. He felt his arm disconnect from its socket with an almost audible  _pop_  and he slid to the floor, blinded by his own blood and barely conscious.

"You see?" he heard Enoch say. "I am exceptional! You never had a chance of defeating me. You've lost, Batter." He sounded almost sad as he took Batter's head between a thumb and forefinger. "It is over."

A strange calm descended over Batter. Yes. Yes, Enoch was right; it was over. He had failed. He had given his all, and it had not been enough. But what more had he expected? This was Batter through and through; the pathological screw-up. His last thought before Enoch's great fingers began to slowly twist his head, as though turning the key to a wind-up toy, was that at least now he would not be able to disappoint anyone else, ever again.

At that moment he heard a sound beneath the slow, roaring beat of his heart; the sound of light, quick feet drumming over the ground. There was an ear-splitting screech and a roar of pain from Enoch, and the pressure on Batter's skull was released. He slithered to the ground in a daze. Through the blood that still obscured most of his vision, he could see the blurred shape of the monstrous therapist thrashing about, with a smaller shape latched onto its moonlike face.

"Run!" a voice screamed. "You incompetent pyjama-clad lout! Run!"

Pablo? Batter tried to stand, but he legs did not want to obey him. Instead he crawled in what he sincerely hoped was the direction of the door, his dislocated arm held at an awkward angle against his chest. Relief flooded him when he saw that his bat was still wedged firmly between the door and its frame. He swiped at his eyes and grabbed hold of it, just as Enoch gave a shout of triumph and something small and white flew yowling past Batter's head and out the door.

"Oh no you don't! Don't thing you will escape me so easily, you twerp!" The ground shook as Enoch crashed towards him, and Batter gave the bat a panicked tug and slipped through the door just as it swung closed.

"Mind the hole!" Pablo cried. Batter twisted in the air, teetered on the edge for a moment, then skirted the hole and staggered away as fast as his screaming bones would allow, just as Enoch came crashing through the door behind him bellowing in frustration. Pablo was waiting for him, a wry grin distorting his thin face as always.

"What are you doing?" Batter panted. "We have to get out of here!"

"Not so hasty, my belligerent comrade," the cat chuckled. "Take a look behind you."

Batter looked and sure enough, Enoch was trapped in the hole that Batter had just narrowly managed to avoid. He was still bellowing like a wounded bull, but no matter how he twisted and strained his massive bulk was wedged firmly in place.

"You runt!" he roared, frothing with rage. "I should have squashed you when I had the chance!"

Batter grinned. "Yeah, you should have," he said, hefting his bat. It felt awkward using his left arm, but that would only make it all the more satisfying when he smashed the monster's skull in. He sauntered towards Enoch, still grinning unpleasantly.

"Wait," Enoch yelped, suddenly panicked. "No, please! Have mercy!"

"Why?" Batter asked.

Enoch's mouth worked, but no sound came out. Batter's grin became a snarl.

"That's what I thought."

"No," Enoch whispered. "No, please…"

Batter swung with all his might. The bat crashed into the side of Enoch's face, scattering teeth and hot blood. He swung again, and smoke poured out of the creature's ruined skull. Still he kept swinging, again and again, shouting wordlessly with each strike, until he was covered in soot and Enoch's black blood and his arm gave out. Then he staggered backwards, shoulders trembling, and his bat fell from his fingers as he pressed his hand over his eyes.

"Courage, my young champion," came Pablo's voice from somewhere near his feet. "You are nearing your goal. It will not be long before you enjoy the spoils that you have so indisputably earned."

"How can you be so sure, Judge?" Batter asked quietly.

"I was looking ahead," Pablo said simply. "And I have located Zacharie."

Batter removed his hand and looked down at the cat. "Zacharie?" His heart gave a painful twinge as Enoch's words came flooding back to him.  _He has every reason to be afraid_. "Is he-?"

"Yes, yes," the cat purred, lacing himself around Batter's ankles. "He is quite well. We should make haste, though; this place is treacherous, and I doubt even I will be able to find him again if the labyrinth does not wish me to. Sit down and I will see to your hurts, and then let us be off."

Batter did as he was told and Pablo leaped up onto his leg to get at his injured shoulder, purring contentedly. Batter let his eyes close, leaning into the warming sensation of the cat's tongue. Zacharie was fine, and he was close. It was all going to be okay.

"Thank you," he said drowsily, wincing as he felt his shoulder click back into place. "You really saved my ass back there."

Pablo hummed lightly in reply, before turning his attention to Batter's leg.

"Better?" he asked a few minutes later. Batter was on his feet again; he gave his shoulder an experimental roll and nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Excellent! This way, then." He trotted away and Batter followed.

They had not gone far before a pair of rat-spectres appeared, hissing and spitting their noxious saliva. Batter dispatched them like a machine, hardly registering his movements. His mind was fixed on Zacharie. What would he say? What would happen next? And always, Enoch's words ate away at the back of his mind like a creeping rot. How much of this had Zacharie really seen, how much of Batter's rage and madness? What would he think of Batter when they finally met again? Would he even be able to stand the sight of him? These questions and more rushed through Batter's mind, and he could answer none of them. Apprehension twisted in his gut, a sick, slippery feeling. He dealt with another pair of rat-spectres, then another of the two-legged, tube-backed kind, without even seeing them.

"Ah, we are nearly there," Pablo said at length, pausing at a branch in the corridor. "I believe it is this way," he added, choosing the left. "Oh," he said a moment later. "Oh, dear."

"What?" Batter asked, rounding the corner behind him.

"This… could be a problem."

Batter followed the cat's gaze-

And his heart stopped.

"No," he said, as if by denying he could somehow erase the scene in front of him; unmake it, unsee it, anything to make it not true. "Oh god, no…"

Zacharie was on the ground, mask askew and blood painting the side of his face. Standing over him, bloody bat in hand, was Batter.

"S-stay away from me," Zacharie panted, trying to crawl backwards. "Stay away!"

The false Batter's eyes were shadowed by his cap, but the way he smiled made Batter's skin crawl. He could barely process what he was seeing, and before he could move or even cry out the spectre had raised his bat and Zacharie's scream of terror was cut off as the blow cleaved his skull nearly in two.


	17. Chapter 17

“Oh no, oh no,” Pablo was crying, dashing back and forth. “Oh no, oh no, oh _no_!”

Batter couldn’t move. He couldn’t think, couldn’t make a sound. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was stand there, eyes fixed on Zacharie’s fractured mask and the blood welling beneath it. Had he really come this far, just to see Zacharie die, unable to do a thing to stop it? The false Batter cocked his head at him, wiping his bloody hand across his mouth. He smiled, baring sharp teeth, and twirled his bat.

“Hey, Batter, Batter,” he called, low and mocking. “Wanna take a swing?”

Batter’s blood roared in his ears. His fists clenched so tightly around the bat that he felt his knuckles crack. “You… you BASTARD!” he roared.

The false Batter laughed. “I am what I am.” He spread his arms in a ‘come at me’ gesture. “Or should I say, I am what _you_ are.”

Batter grit his teeth. “Shut up.”

“What’s the matter? Can’t handle the cold hard truth? This is what you _are_ ,” he said, grinning like a shark. He gestured at Zacharie’s corpse with the blood-stained bat. “You killed your father, you tried to kill your mother, and let’s face it, given enough time you would have done the same to Zacharie here, too. It’s really better this way.”

“No,” Batter said dully. “No, none of that is true. I didn’t- I _wouldn’t_ have-!”

The false Batter made a disgusted noise. “Whatever. You gonna kill me or not? Come on, Batter, show us all how much _better_ you are than me,” he sneered, twirling his bat again.

“Do it, Batter!” Pablo yowled. “Put this wretched upstart back in his place!”

Batter barely heard him. He was tired, so fucking tired. “No,” he said again, tossing his bat aside. “I won’t.”

The spectre’s lip curled in distaste. Then he laughed. “Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re trying to be all noble now? It’s a bit late for that, dontcha think? Pick up your fucking bat and fight me already!”

“Why?” Batter asked. “Why should I? You killed Zacharie. He was the last thing I had that was worth fighting for. Now…” he shrugged. “You might as well just kill me. I won’t fight you. I’ve had enough.”

“What are you doing?” Pablo hissed. “This is utterly deplorable! Zacharie would not want you to wallow in self-pity! Now, take up your weapon at once!”

“Yeah, Batter, listen to the cat,” the false Batter said, kicking idly at one of Zacharie’s legs.

Batter actually laughed at that, and a part of his mind wondered if he finally gone completely mad. It certainly seemed that way. “No! I’m done listening to other people! All my life I’ve had people tell me what I should do and how I should be; my parents, my teachers, my coach, more doctors than you can shake a fucking barge-pole at, a talking cat and now you. I’m done. Kill me for all I care. At least it’ll be my _fucking choice_!”

The false Batter stared at him. “Wow,” he said at length. “That was… really fucking boring. Man, why’d you have to go all self-righteous on me all of a sudden? It takes all the fun out of it.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Batter spat.

“Enough of this!” Pablo shrieked in outrage. “Batter, I demand that you-!”

“Shut up!” said both Batters simultaneously. “Ugh!” said the false Batter. “I’ve had enough. If I have to listen to your pathetic whining for another second I’m going to _puke_ ,” he snarled. As he strode forward he began to change, teeth snapping like a bear-trap as his jaws lengthened into a fearsome fanged snout. The bat was tossed aside, useless now that his hands had grown into massive talons the size of bicycle wheels. Pablo yowled and shot away, and Batter let out a long, steady breath.

I _promised I would find him, no matter what it took_. The false Batter roared and the floor shook beneath its feet as it charged towards him. _This is the only way I can do that, now_. Batter closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable end. When the thing screeched, so close that he felt its hot, wet breath on his face, he was utterly prepared to feel those monstrous jaws come crunching down on his skull – but the pain never came.

Batter opened his eyes. The false Batter loomed over him, jaws locked open and dripping. It looked down in surprise, and when Batter followed its gaze he saw the reason – a sword had blossomed from the monster’s chest, glistening with black blood. A thin wheeze emitted from the false Batter’s throat and the sword retracted with a meaty sound; Batter staggered sideways as the thing’s eyes rolled back into its skull and it toppled towards him. The false Batter’s corpse met the floor with a dull crash and lay still, smoking faintly. Batter barely noticed.

“ _Hola, amigo_ ,” said Zacharie, wiping his sword on the hem of his jumper. He was as filthy as Batter was, the white wool of his jumper stained grey by the smoke, his mask splattered with gore. But it was Zacharie’s eyes that stared out of the holes, warm as melted chocolate, and Batter had never been happier to see anyone in his life.

“Zacharie,” he said. “Zacharie, you-” he swallowed. “You’re alive.”

Zacharie chuckled, causing a swooping sensation somewhere in the region of Batter’s intestines. “In a manner of speaking, _amigo_. It’s good to see you.”

A lump formed in Batter’s throat. “Yeah, you too.”

“You look awful.”

Batter laughed and adjusted his cap. “Yeah, um…” _I love you. I love you so much that I was ready to die just to see you again. Zacharie, I love you more than anything._ God, there was so much he wanted to say. “Nice sword,” he said lamely.

Zacharie’s eyes softened, and Batter could tell that he knew exactly what Batter wanted to say. “It does the trick,” he said quietly. Batter took a step towards him and then he was running, and the sword clattered to the ground forgotten as he threw his arms around Zacharie, burying his face against his neck. Zacharie returned the hug with equal desperation, clinging to Batter as if he were the only thing holding him together. That lump in Batter’s throat swelled at the feel of him, pressed warm and slightly trembling against Batter’s body, smelling of smoke and sugar and his soft hair tickling Batter’s skin and his heart beating steadily alongside his own. It was not until Zacharie’s shoulders began to shake that he realised that there were tears on his own cheeks, too. His lips brushed Zacharie’s neck and they both laughed, the euphoria of relief filling their chests as they realised that yes, this was real, they had found each other and it was all going to be okay. Batter lifted his head and brushed his fingers over the side of Zacharie’s mask before placing a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

“I knew I’d find you,” he murmured, hugging him again. Zacharie laughed damply.

“Never doubted it for a second, _amigo_.”

“I’m sorry, Zacharie, I never should have left.”

Zacharie sighed, his arms tightening around Batter. “Forget about it. You’re here now, that’s all I need.”

Batter could have stayed like that forever. Zacharie’s breathing fell into a steady rhythm and Batter’s slowed to match it, and for the first time in his life he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be. He felt whole. The feeling did not lessen even when Zacharie pulled away, those quick fingers adjusting his mask with deft, achingly familiar movements. He must have caught Batter’s adoring glances because he laughed again.

“Come on, _amigo_. There’s still one more thing we have to do.”

“There is?” Batter asked, falling into step beside the masked boy as he turned and started down the corridor.

Zacharie hummed lightly in reply. It was a sad sound, and when Batter looked up and saw the set of doors at the end of the corridor, he understood why. _The burn ward_.

The false Zacharie’s remains were still lying where it had died, its hollow eyes staring at the ceiling in permanent surprise. Zacharie paused beside it.

“You thought this was me, didn’t you?” he asked quietly. Batter nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why you…” he trailed off.

“Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Batter looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“He looks nothing like me,” Zacharie said in an affronted tone, nudging the corpse with his foot. “I’m far more attractive.”

Batter blinked in confusion, and then laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. I am an idiot.”

Zacharie made a fist and shoved him gently. “Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t. I’m guessing you saw things that looked like me, then?”

“Yeah, I did. They… they said things.” Zacharie’s voice hitched slightly.

“I know,” Batter said quickly. “Forget it.”

They left the false Zacharie smouldering and approached the doors to the burn ward. Zacharie came to a halt in front of them, suddenly seeming unsure of himself.

“You okay?” Batter asked.

“Yeah,” Zacharie said absently. “Yeah, it’s just… after everything I’ve seen of this place, I have a fairly good idea of what will be behind these doors and I- I’m not sure if-”

Batter grabbed Zacharie’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. _I’m here_ , it said. _I’m with you_.

Zacharie understood. “Thanks, _amigo_.”

They opened the doors together and stepped through, fingers still laced. The ward was dark and utterly deserted. The only light was dull and orange and came from the end of the hall, spilling out from beneath the door to Zacharie’s room. As they approached the door a hot, dry wind stung Batter’s skin and he narrowed his eyes against the smoke. Zacharie coughed, shrinking back against Batter’s side. Batter tightened his grip on Zacharie’s hand and felt Zacharie do the same in return.

“Together?” Zacharie asked. Smoke curled around their ankles.

“Together,” Batter agreed.

They pushed open the door, and Batter followed Zacharie into the heat and flickering light within.


	18. Chapter 18

Entering the room was like stepping into a furnace. Batter felt his skin begin to blister in the heat of the wind and Zacharie flinched back again. Batter gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

"It's alright, I'm here," he said over the dull roar of the wind. Zacharie nodded.

"I know."

The room was steeped in orange light and shadows leaped and danced on the walls, thrown by flames that Batter could not see. Smoke roiled just below the ceiling, but like the flickering light it seemed to have no source. Zacharie was protected by the mask, but Batter had to raise his free arm to shield his face as they approached the centre of the room, the scorching heat growing more intense with every step. Batter was sure it was going to burn his skin right off his bones, but when he looked at his arm his skin was as smooth and pale as ever. For a moment he wondered why; then he glanced sidelong at Zacharie, and remembered that the fire was a product of  _his_  mind. It made sense that it wouldn't have as much of an effect on Batter. A knife twisted in his chest as he realised how much more Zacharie must be hurting, and for the first time Batter was grateful for Zacharie's mask. He didn't know if he could stand to see that kind of pain on his friend's face, knowing that there was nothing he could do to ease it. God, he wanted so badly to protect Zacharie; to pull him into his arms and shield him from all the pain in the world, even if that meant taking it all on himself.

Not that Zacharie would allow such a thing. Batter's heart swelled with equal parts sadness and pride as he looked at the smaller boy, bearing the pain of the room without a sound. He was so strong, so brave; nothing like Batter, who had spent his whole life being plagued by doubt and self-loathing and fear. What had he done to deserve a friend like Zacharie?

Whispering interrupted his thoughts. At first it brushed the very limits of his hearing, but before long it had overwhelmed the rush of the wind. He couldn't tell what the voices were saying, though; it was as if they were caught in the white-noise space between two radio stations.

"Do you hear that?" Batter asked. Zacharie nodded again, lifting a trembling hand to the side of his head.

"Yes," he whispered. "I can hear them."

 _Them_?

Shapes rose out of the smoke; a pair of beds. One was a normal bed with a single mattress, the other a child's crib. Both were completely bare. Zacharie drew up with a sharp intake of breath and Batter stopped beside him, looking at his friend in concern.

"Zacharie," Batter said. "Are you-?"

"I can hear them," Zacharie repeated, his voice rough. "They're… inside..."

He groaned, and before Batter knew what was happening he had doubled over, clutching his head.

"Zacharie?" Batter got his arms around Zacharie just as he collapsed, dragging them both to the ground. Batter ended up on his knees, hugging Zacharie to his chest. The boy's eyes had rolled back into his head and Batter felt a surge of panic as he began to convulse. "Zacharie! Oh,  _god_ …"

"I'm sorry," Zacharie whimpered. Batter began to tell him that it was alright, that he had nothing to be sorry for, but then he realised that Zacharie was speaking not to him but to someone Batter could not see. "It was my fault," he was saying, curled fingers gripping his hair. "I should have been there!" his voice was childlike and filled with so much terror that it was physically painful to Batter; he looked desperately around the room, searching for something, anything that would help him. But the room was empty except for the beds, the smoke, the dancing light, and the incessant whispers.

Suddenly, Zacharie arched and screamed, setting all the hairs on the back of Batter's neck on end. "No, please! I'm  _sorry_!" he sobbed. Batter shushed him and held him tighter. God, he had never felt so helpless in his life. How was he supposed to fight something he couldn't even see? "Why won't you believe me? I never meant for it to happen! Sugar,  _please_ -"

He screamed again, and this time the sound was long and drawn out and it ended with his voice breaking. His head snapped back, the whites of his eyes showing in the dark recesses of his mask before he fell limply against Batter's chest, still and terrifyingly quiet now that he had stopped screaming. Fear rose in Batter's throat like gall. Was he even breathing? Batter shook him gently.

"Zacharie? Hey, Zacharie. It's okay, buddy, I'm here. Are you with me, Zacharie?"

Zacharie didn't answer, didn't move. Something stuck in Batter's throat.

"Zach… whatever you heard just now, whatever you did to make you think you deserve this… it's nothing. It doesn't matter, I don't care, I-" he swallowed. "I don't care. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and nothing you could say could ever change how much I-  _fuck_!"

The whispering had fallen away; the silence it left was deafening. Batter covered his eyes with a hand and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Come on, Zach. Don't do this, don't-"

Tears filled Batter's eyes and he brushed them away angrily.

"Just say something," he pleaded. " _Anything_ , Zach, come on…"

Zacharie coughed. " _Hola, amigo_ ," he wheezed.

"Oh thank god," Batter said, crushing Zacharie into a fierce hug. "Shit, sorry, sorry," he swore, relinquishing his grip somewhat when Zacharie groaned. "Damn it Zacharie, why do you gotta make me worry so much, huh?"

Zacharie chuckled weakly. "Apologies,  _amigo_. It's never my intention, I assure you." He settled against Batter's chest with a sigh, and Batter wrapped his arms around him again. "I heard them," he said quietly. "Sugar, and Hugo, screaming inside my head… it hurt so much, Batter. It was like being trapped in that burning house all over again, only this time the fire was in here." He tapped the side of his head. "But then… then I heard you. And everything was alright again. Did you really mean those things you said?"

Something was stuck in Batter's throat again, but he nodded. "Every word," he managed.

There was a rushing sound, and a sigh, and Batter and Zacharie looked over at the two beds. They were no longer empty. At the end of the single bed sat a ghostly pale girl wearing boxers and a roughly cropped T-shirt. Her feet were bare and she flickered in time with the dancing orange light. A little boy dressed in a red romper was standing up in the other, gripping the bars of his crib with tiny fists. He flickered too, and they both turned their ghostly eyes on Batter and Zacharie and smiled. As they watched, the girl stood up and glided over to her brother's crib. She scooped him up and held him on her hip, then turned to face them once again.

"Sugar," Zacharie croaked, sitting up slightly. "Hugo?"

Sugar nodded and Hugo bounced up and down on Sugar's hip, his spectral laughter filling the room. Then Sugar's gaze fell on Batter, and he almost gasped when a whisper brushed his mind.

'Thank you,' it said, before Sugar raised her hand, her eyes suddenly sad.

"Wait," Zacharie said, flinging his hand out. Sugar shook her head and pressed her hand to her lips. She blew her brother a kiss, and then she and Hugo flickered once and were gone. That rushing sound intensified, accompanied now by a strong, cool wind. Batter closed his eyes and hugged Zacharie to him until it had passed, and when he opened them again the phantom beds had vanished and the room was just as Batter had left it, all that time ago. White walls, white beds, and a white sky outside the window at the far end.

Zacharie let his arm fall slowly. "I guess we made it, huh?" he said quietly, looking up at Batter.

"Yeah," Batter said absently. "Yeah, I guess we did."

They looked at each other, relief and euphoria filling their chests and spilling over into laughter. They laughed and laughed until they cried, and Batter pulled Zacharie to his feet and put his arm around Batter's shoulders, and together they stumbled to Zacharie's bed and flopped down onto it, still laughing.

"Oh god," Batter said weakly, shoulders shaking as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "We did it, we actually did it."

Zacharie lay down beside him, giggling. "That we did, my friend. That we did." He stretched his arms up, exposing a strip of flat, golden stomach, and sighed.

"So what happens now?"

Zacharie rolled to face him, propping his chin on his fist. "You know," he began thoughtfully, "I never actually thought this far ahead. I didn't even think you'd come when Pablo went to find you," he murmured.

Batter frowned. "Why not?"

Zacharie seemed taken aback by that. "Well I- I guess I'm just not used to people treating me with such kindness. I never had anyone willing to go out of their way to help me – apart from Sugar, that is. I could always count on her to… to…" Zacharie trailed off, then cleared his throat. "But that doesn't matter now," he said quickly. Batter wasn't fooled. Zacharie's voice was slightly too high, and had that false brightness about it that smacked of thinly veiled grief. Batter turned onto his side, mirroring Zacharie's pose.

"What happened to them, Zacharie?" he asked quietly. "What happened to  _you_?"

Zacharie didn't answer. His hand was on the bed between them and Batter took it, lacing their fingers together. "You really want to know?" he asked.

"Yes," Batter said immediately. Zacharie fidgeted self-consciously.

"You'll think less of me."

"I won't," Batter told him, with more certainty than he had ever felt in his life. "I could never."

Zacharie laughed softly. "You're sweet. Alright. I suppose it was always going to come to this. After everything you've done, everything you've suffered…" he untangled his hand from Batter's and trailed his fingers over the scars on Batter's arm, eyes soft and dark and sad. "You deserve to know. What kind of merchant would I be otherwise?"

Zacharie's hand found Batter's again as he settled back onto the bed.

"I remember everything about that night," he began quietly. "The distant roar of the sea, the pull of the Tramontane, the smell of the salty rain on my skin. The imprint of the fire against the night sky, the negative as clear as if someone had pressed a white-hot brand into my retinas. I must have replayed it all a hundred thousand times, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when it all went wrong. I thought if I could do that, if I could find some way that it wasn't my fault, I could move on… but no matter how I looked at it, it was always because of me. Because I made one stupid decision that ruined everything and I- I can't-" he broke off, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself. Batter traced comforting circles over Zacharie's hand with his thumb.

"Take as long as you need, Zacharie," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't want to draw it out," Zacharie replied. "It's just hard to find the right words. I'm not sure if it's possible to phrase this in a way that will keep you from despising me, and I- I guess I'm just trying to put that off for as long as I can."

"Don't say that," Batter said angrily, causing Zacharie to flinch. "Don't you dare say that," he repeated, more gently. "Zacharie, I could never hate you. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine. Let me tell you my story instead, and then- then we can decide who should be despising who. Alright?"

Zacharie's eyes met his. "Alright," he agreed. " _Quid pro quo_."

Batter nodded. "Alright."

He took a deep breath. Was he really going to do this? He hadn't spoken about this to anyone – not his mother, not his friends (the few he had had), not his doctors or therapists – and now he was about to divulge his darkest secrets to a boy he had known for a matter of days?

Yes. Yes, he was. Because as ridiculous as it seemed, there was no one else on Earth that Batter would rather tell than Zacharie. Because Zacharie had seen him at his worst, had seen his guilt come to life and torn it apart to save him, and he deserved to know more than  _anyone_.

"I was never a good son," he began. "I fought, all the time. I was always so angry, and no one understood why –  _I_  didn't even understand why. I lost count of how many time I got pulled out of school for fighting, for beating some kid into the dirt. One time I hit this kid so hard he had to go to hospital. He didn't come back for a month and when he did, he…" Batter trailed off, swallowing. He remembered the dull look in the boy's eyes, the way he had struggled to speak and do simple things like catch a rubber ball. He remembered the fear, how after that the other kids had stayed away from him, in case they got broken, too. He shook the memory off. "Mum cried. She cried so much. Dad did, too, but he never let me see it. I could tell, though. I don't know why, but that only made me angrier. I started hitting them as well. They were both so afraid, but they didn't know what to do – they'd talked to doctors but they all said I was too young to medicate, it was just a phase and I'd grow out of it with time. So they waited.

"But all that did was make me worse. And one day, my father must have decided that he couldn't wait any longer. I came home one night to find him swinging from a rope, in his office. He'd hanged himself while mum was out. I- I didn't know what to do. I was so angry, so angry that he'd given up. He looked so pathetic just dangling there, with his neck all twisted and his mouth hanging open, I picked up my bat and just- just started beating the shit out of him." The words came in a rush now; he could feel his voice begin to shake and he didn't know how much longer he could continue, but he had to get it all out. Zacharie had to know.

"I hit him and I hit him, and I couldn't stop. Zacharie, I hit him so hard that my hands bled, and I yelled and screamed until my voice gave out, and when I couldn't hit him anymore I lay down and cried. I'd never cried before that, never. That was how mum found us; my dad, swinging from his broken neck, and me, crying like a baby, clutching my bleeding hands to my chest. And even though she told me that it had nothing to do with me, that my father had been under so much pressure at work, I knew, we both knew, that he was gone because of me. He was gone, and it was my fault."

Zacharie squeezed his hand. "That was him, in the labyrinth," he said quietly. "Wasn't it?"

Batter nodded. "Yeah, that was him. That was where it all began. My mother may have still been in denial, but after that I knew- I knew that there was something wrong with me. Something sick, something broken that no one could fix."

Zacharie's eyes were sad, so sad behind his mask. "How old were you?"

"Twelve," Batter said.

Zacharie let out a low breath. "Oh,  _amigo_ …" he unlaced their fingers and rested his hand on Batter's cheek. Batter sighed, leaning into its warmth, and covered it with his own.

"That was just the beginning," he continued, closing his eyes. "After that, I started hearing voices.

"They weren't so bad, at first. It was kind of like having friends, you know? They understood. I knew that mum would freak if she found out, that she'd try and take them away because she was afraid, and I didn't want that. So I kept quiet about it. I picked up my grades, I made a few friends, and I started playing baseball again. I'd quit after my dad died, it didn't seem right to keep playing after what happened. I guess it was me punishing myself for what I did, in a way.

"It's almost funny," he said, with a dry, utterly mirthless laugh. "How the only time in my life where I was actually sort of happy and  _together_  was when I was completely insane.

"It didn't last, though. The voices got louder, angrier, less understanding. It got a lot harder to satisfy them. I got scared, but by then I had been listening to them for too long to just back out. Something- something inside me snapped, and when I came to, mum was on the floor and my hands were around her throat. I don't even know how it happened-"

He broke off, swiping at his face. "And that was how I ended up here," Batter said, his voice pitched too high as he fought not to cry. "I couldn't- I didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. So when I saw you- what I thought was you lying there, and me standing over you, and then when the bat came down and I was so sure I'd killed you, I just-"

He couldn't go on. That lump in his throat had grown into a monster, and it swelled even more when Zacharie's thumb began to rub comforting circles over his cheek.

"I was so ready to die, Zacharie," Batter whispered. "So ready to die. You were the first good thing I ever had. I would have done anything to see you again."

"You're an idiot," Zacharie murmured, his own voice thick with tears. "You'll always have me, Batter." He gently wiped the tears from Batter's face, his hand lingering too long on the taller boy's cheeks while Batter stared at him like he was seeing him for the first time. Zacharie caught him looking and quickly pulled his hand away, clearing his throat.

"Thank you for that,  _amigo_ ," he said. "I knew you would have a story worth telling, though I wasn't half as sure I would get to hear it. Now…  _quid pro quo_.

"It was a Friday. School had just let out and everyone seemed to be talking about some party or other that was happening that night. I didn't pay much attention; I was never really someone who got invited to those kinds of things, and in any case I needed to get home. I had promised Sugar that I would help her put the finishing touches on the Frog Prince's mask, which she had stupidly left to the night before the show. But that was her through and through, always taking on more than she could handle." Zacharie gave a small, sad laugh. Then he tapped the side of his mask. "As you can see, I never got there.

"Some guys I had spoken to a few times before waved me over, offered me a ride to the party. I said I wasn't going; they said of course I was, didn't I know  _whose_  party it was? One guy pointed with his thumb, I looked over, and there was the person I'd had the most ridiculous crush on for the past, oh, three months? You know that expression, 'butterflies in one's stomach'? It hardly comes close to describing what I felt. Stomach, lungs, heart; they all turned to butterflies and danced against my ribs. I forgot all about my promise to Sugar, and the next thing I knew, I was surrounded by a sea of faces I barely recognised, so drunk and high that up and down were names for directions that had ceased to exist. The stupid things we do, for the sake of a stupid infatuation," he said bitterly.

Batter's own stomach twisted painfully. God, how he knew. He knew it all too well. "What was her name?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

Zacharie glanced at him. "Jealousy doesn't suit you,  _amigo_ ," he said gently. "But his name was Damien."

Batter didn't know what to say to that. He was having a butterfly problem of his own, though instead of throwing themselves against his ribs they were flying madly in all directions at once. His face grew uncomfortably hot, and hotter still as Zacharie continued to stare at him, his eyes bright with amusement, and suddenly Batter didn't know what to do with his hands or where to place his eyes.

"Oh," he said, after far too long a time.

"Do you have a problem with that, Batter?" Zacharie asked coolly. Batter met his gaze, worried that he might have misinterpreted- but no, Zacharie's eyes were still crinkled in amusement. He took a breath.

"Do I look like I have a problem with it?" he asked, just as coolly.

Zacharie chuckled, and everything was perfect again. "No," he said. "No, you don't. Shall I continue?"

"If you want to."

"Alright."

Zacharie shuffled closer on the bed and put out his hand, and Batter wordlessly threaded his fingers between the smaller boy's. "So," he said, now close enough that his dark hair tickled the underside of Batter's chin. "There I was, high as a kite and utterly smashed, in a crowd of strangers- and along comes Damien. He was in a better condition than I, though not by much. One thing led to another, and we ended up in his parents' bedroom."

Zacharie paused. "I won't bore you with the details," he said quietly. "But- it wasn't at all how I thought it would be. I didn't feel good, or happy, or anything really. When he was inside me I forgot why I'd wanted him so badly, why he'd seemed so perfect- all I could think about was how I wanted to vomit. It felt all wrong. He passed out as soon as he finished, and I cleaned myself up and left. No one stopped me. No one even looked at me. I had ceased to exist.

"There were no more buses, so I walked home in the rain, clawing at my skin as though I could somehow tear out the touch of his hands. I lost count of how many times I had to stop and throw up on the side of the road, but eventually I got there. And oh, how glad I was for the alcohol and god knows what vicious cocktail of drugs in my system then, because Hell had frozen over and its flames had come to the  _Golfe_.

"I ran inside without thinking. It didn't seem real, you know? The heat must have been unimaginable, but in the state I was in I hardly even felt it. Somehow I had convinced myself that the fire was all in my head, and if I could just get to her in time, it would all be okay.

"I found her in Hugo's room, on the floor beside his cot. Her legs- oh god, Batter, her legs were burned so badly, she must have crawled all the way there, dragging them behind her. I can't even imagine the pain she must have felt, and it was all for nothing because Hugo- god, Hugo was gone. The smoke had got to him long before she did. But she, oh- she was still alive. I held her, and she whispered that she was cold, far too cold. I told her it was all going to be alright. I lied. Her legs, Batter! She was going to be a dancer, she was going to be the best there ever was, and I ruined all of it, I took everything away from her because of some  _stupid_ -"

Zacharie broke off, breathing hard. Wordlessly, Batter put his arms around him and drew him against his chest. He seemed so small, trembling like a frightened bird against Batter's body.

"And she was still holding that stupid mask," Zacharie went on, his voice shaking and too high. "We'd made it together, she didn't want it to all be burned away. Then she was gone and it was all I had left, this grinning accusation that I should have been there with her."

"You couldn't have known," Batter murmured. "The fire… it wasn't your fault."

Zacharie laughed bitterly. "Oh, but it was. You see, Sugar always worked by candlelight. She loved the way it made the shadows dance. She had waited for me for so long that she fell asleep. She must have knocked one over. And when I realised that… I knew that there was no way I could live with what I had done. I had no right to. There was a chair in the nursery, where we used to sit and read to Hugo; it had been all but consumed by the fire. Just one leg was left of it, flames still licking along its length. I picked it up, brought it close enough to my face that I could smell my hair begin to crisp, and I closed my mouth around the burning end and let the heat and pain consume me from the inside out. I wanted to feel the same agony Sugar had felt. I wanted to die.

"Instead, I woke up here. Since then it's as if I've been moving through a dream; I couldn't tell you whether I've been here for months, or years. But then I met you, and it's like- it's like everything snapped back into focus." Zacharie's fingers toyed sheepishly with the front of Batter's shirt. "I don't know how else to explain it," he said quietly. "But… when I'm with you, I feel  _right_. You know?"

Batter nodded. "I know. Zacharie?"

"Hm?"

"Will you let me see your face?" he asked gently.

Zacharie sat up, hands going to the mask self-consciously. "You- you really want to? Even after-?"

"Yes," Batter said, sitting up with him. "I want to see you. All of you."

Zacharie's eyes widened as Batter began to reach towards his mask. "Wait," he said, drawing back. "Wait, I- I'm…" he took a breath, then let it out with a faint laugh. "This is going to sound stupid."

"Nothing you say could ever sound stupid," Batter said, but he withdrew his hand anyway.

"Well, I- I've been wearing the mask so long, I'm- I'm not actually sure what's underneath anymore," he finished in a mumble.

Batter couldn't help himself; he laughed. "Is that really what you're worried about?" he asked over the indignant noises Zacharie was making. "Zacharie." He took the smaller boy's wrists so gently that their hands were barely touching. "Look at me." He needed Zacharie to understand just how much he meant what he was about to say. Zacharie met his eyes reluctantly, and Batter met the boy's half-hearted glare with all the warmth he could muster. It seemed strange that his heart was no longer pounding, that his stomach had settled and his mind was clear; but then again, it shouldn't really be strange at all. For the first time in his life, Batter was right, right where he belonged. "Listen," he said quietly. "I'm not as good with words as you, and even if I was I don't think I could ever explain just how I feel about you. But… please believe me when I say that, to me, you could never be anything less than perfect."

With that he began to slide the frog mask up and away from Zacharie's face, his hands still covering the other boy's. Batter moved their hands slowly, his eyes drinking everything in, entranced by every new detail; the shape of Zacharie's chin, the sharp line of his jaw, his lips-

He leaned in. "Zacharie," he breathed. "I-"

"Don't say it," Zacharie whispered. His lips were moving so close to Batter's that he could feel the warm sweetness of his breath. "Don't say it before you've seen-"

"I'll say it before," Batter said recklessly. "And I'll say it again after. I love-"

Zacharie closed the distance between them and their lips met in a warm, chaste kiss.

"You," Batter finished when they parted, somewhat absently; his brain seemed to have turned to cotton wool. "I love you, I love you." He pulled Zacharie towards him and kissed him again, his eyes closing as one hand slid Zacharie's mask the rest of the way off and tossed it onto the bed. Zacharie deepened the kiss and Batter gasped against the heat of his mouth as Zacharie's tongue slipped over his. Their mouths moved as though they were made for each other, and Zacharie's hands went to Batter's shoulders, drawing their bodies together until he was straddling Batter's lap. Batter's hands dropped to Zacharie's waist and slid under the woollen jumper, the boy's skin warm and supple beneath his fingers.

"Keep your eyes closed," Zacharie whispered against Batter's mouth. "Just a little longer. Please?"

Batter nodded. Zacharie kissed the corner of his mouth, then both of his closed eyelids. Batter heard him exhale.

"Alright," he said, and Batter opened his eyes.

"Oh my god," Batter said without thinking.

"What?" Zacharie yelped. His hands shot to his face. "Is it really that bad? Oh god, I knew this was a bad idea-"

"What? No!" Batter grabbed Zacharie's wrists again and guided his hands away from his face. Zacharie looked at him shyly, a light flush creeping over his cheeks and across the freckled bridge of his nose. Batter stared. Everything he had wanted to say had flown clean out of his head. Zacharie was breath-taking, Zacharie was perfect, Zacharie was-

"Jesus, Zacharie," Batter said at last. "You're beautiful."

Zacharie's eyes widened. "What?" he said again. Batter released his wrists and Zacharie's hands went to his face again, his fingers tracing the line of his lips, jaw, cheekbones, brow. And slowly, he began to smile. "I'm… I'm alright," he said, and when he laughed Batter thought his heart would burst. He had never heard Zacharie sound so happy. "I- I don't believe it! How did this happen? Oh, who cares," he said in a rush. He threw his arms around Batter's neck, kissing him with such enthusiasm that Batter lost his balance and they both toppled back onto the bed in a tangled heap.

"I love you, Batter," Zacharie said, between kisses. "I love you, I love you."

A warm, golden glow filled Batter's chest and spread through his veins. "You do?"

Zacharie nodded. He bit his lip sheepishly before burying his face in the crook of Batter's neck, and Batter wrapped his arms around him. "Yes, I do," he said, the muffled words sending tremors through Batter's skin. "You gave me your heart, Batter; the least I can do is give you mine in return." He chuckled, brushing the tip of his nose over the side of Batter's neck, then placing a soft kiss on the same spot.

"What kind of merchant would I be otherwise?"


	19. Chapter 19

There was something different about Zacharie, now. He seemed less sure of himself without his mask, and his fingers kept going to his face as though he couldn't believe the feeling of his own skin. Batter didn't mind. This new shyness was endearing; especially the way colour would creep across Zacharie's cheeks and nose when he caught Batter looking at him adoringly. He would bite his lip and avoid Batter's gaze, and Batter would turn his face gently towards his and kiss him until they both smiled and laughed breathlessly against the other's lips. They didn't speak; everything that needed to be said had been said.

They kissed slowly, their touches light, insistent, reverent, exploring each other's skin, the shape of their bones, how the sound of their breathing changed when hesitant fingers found the right nerve. Time didn't matter; nothing mattered but this. Batter had never felt so at peace and so right. He had spent his whole life being plagued by anger, fear, and the voices that distorted everything, twisting the world into something ugly and impure. He felt none of that now, just a warm, golden, all-consuming joy, and heard nothing but Zacharie whispering his name.

They were lying side by side, legs tangled and bodies pressed so close together that Batter had lost track of where he ended and Zacharie began. Batter kissed him again, one hand under Zacharie's jumper, caressing his warm skin. The other was clasped with Zacharie's, their fingers laced together. He didn't even remember doing so; it just seemed to happen automatically now, as though their bodies were two halves of a whole that had finally found each other and now could not bear to be separated even for a second. Zacharie deepened the kiss eagerly, smiling as he parted his lips and let his tongue slide over Batter's. He clutched the front of Batter's shirt like he was afraid he would disappear.

"Batter," he whispered, his breath hot at the corner of Batter's mouth. He pressed his hips up and against Batter's, and Batter groaned quietly at the feeling of their clothed erections rubbing maddeningly together. "Can we-?"

Batter realised his fingers were digging into Zacharie's skin and quickly loosened his grip, smoothing his hand over the skin beneath his jumper. "If you want to," he murmured, ducking his head to kiss Zacharie's neck, just below his jaw. "Do you want to?"

"God yes," Zacharie breathed.

They moved more urgently then, hands parting as they sat up so Batter could guide Zacharie's jumper up and over his head. He tossed it aside and Zacharie quickly did the same to Batter's shirt, laughing as he tugged it over his head and cast it away. Batter pulled Zacharie towards him and began to kiss his freckled shoulders, and Zacharie hooked his fingers under the waistband of Batter's pants. A moment later his hand closed around Batter's erect cock, and Batter gasped and let his forehead rest against Zacharie's shoulder, a shudder running through his bones as Zacharie began to stroke up and down his shaft, thumbing the oozing head and slicking the precum down the hard length with slow, steady strokes. Batter gripped his waist so tightly he could feel the ribs beneath his skin.

"Zacharie…"

Zacharie guided Batter's head up, cupping his face with his free hand as he kissed him roughly and urgently.

"Touch me," he whispered back when he pulled away. Batter hands left their imprints on Zacharie's waist as he began to fumble with his jeans. He got them open and guided Zacharie's cock through the slit in his boxers. Zacharie's eyes fluttered closed and he bit his lip, muffling a pleasured sound as Batter began to mirror his actions. Their hips rocked, fucking themselves into each other's hands, and their foreheads pressed together, tendrils of hair tangling together, damp with sweat.

"Ha! Batter," Zacharie panted, his fingers digging into Batter's shoulder. "Wait, wait."

Batter stopped at once. "What's wrong? Did I-?"

"I want you inside me," Zacharie blurted. He released Batter's cock and ran his hands over his bare chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his slick skin. "Is that- is that okay with y-?"

Batter swallowed the question with his lips, kissing Zacharie deeply. Zacharie gasped against his mouth and their tongues slid together, sending an electric thrill down Batter's spine.

"Yeah," Batter said breathlessly when he pulled away. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Have you ever-?"

Batter blushed, and a wide, incredulous grin spread across Zacharie's face.

"Aw, my little boy is a maiden," he chuckled, pinching Batter's cheek. Batter blushed deeper. Maiden… there he went, using words from the middle ages again. "Don't worry, mi amor. I'll be gentle."

Batter's stomach flipped. "Amor?"

Zacharie laughed. "Well, I can't exactly call you amigo anymore, now, can I?"

Batter grinned and kissed him again, gently. "I guess not," he agreed.

They both struggled out of their pants and boxers, casting them to the floor with their shirts and Zacharie's mask. This time it was Batter's turn to be shy; he couldn't seem to stop blushing as Zacharie climbed onto his lap and straddled his hips. Their erections brushed together as Zacharie took one of Batter's hands, pressing his lips against the palm before taking two of his fingers into his mouth. Batter watched him carefully, biting back a groan as Zacharie worked his tongue over the digits, making them slick and hot with his saliva. He looked so content that Batter's heart fluttered in his chest; his eyes were closed and a light flush coloured his freckled cheeks, deepening as he added a third finger and began to lap and suck that, too. Zacharie reached down between their bodies and palmed Batter's cock again, slicking his thumb over the leaking head and down the shaft, pumping it slowly before pulling Batter's fingers out of his mouth with a wet sound.

"Okay," he said, looking up at Batter. His eyes were incredibly dark as he grinned shyly, rising up slightly on his knees. "You sure you're fine with this?"

Batter didn't trust himself to speak. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would break his ribs. He nodded instead, carding his fingers through Zacharie's hair as he pulled him into a heated kiss. His other hand went to Zacharie's ass and Zacharie gasped as he pushed one finger past the tight ring of muscle. Batter paused, worried that he had hurt him.

"No, that's good," Zacharie said, his voice a little strained. He kissed the corner of Batter's mouth. "Keep going. Please."

Batter obediently pushed the finger deeper. Zacharie moved with him, grinding his hips ever so slightly and oh god, the noises he was making went straight to Batter's dick. He withdrew his finger and carefully added another, trying to be as gentle as he could as he slowly curled and scissored his fingers inside Zacharie. Zacharie moved, taking Batter's fingers as deep as they would go, and they must have brushed something inside him because suddenly his back arched and his hips jerked and he let out a breathless sound.

"Ah! There, Batter, right there," he gasped, grinding harder now. Batter's dick throbbed almost painfully and Christ, if Zacharie kept making those sounds he was going to come without even touching him. He added a third finger and Zacharie's flushed cock twitched and dripped glistening precum as Batter's fingers found his sweet spot once more. "Fuck me," Zacharie said brokenly. "God, fuck me, please…" he dragged his tongue over Batter's bottom lip and kissed him so hard Batter saw stars. His hands shook as he withdrew his fingers; Zacharie covered them with his own and placed them on his hips as he lined up his slick entrance with the head of Batter's cock and lowered himself onto it. Batter groaned against Zacharie's mouth as his hard length was enveloped by Zacharie's velveteen heat, then ducked his head, biting his shoulder as he began to move. Every muscle in his body tightened as he fought not to come right then and there; the feeling of having Zacharie this close, so accepting and wanting and real, was more intoxicating than he ever could have imagined.

"Move," Zacharie begged, grinding his hips insistently. "Please, I want to feel you- ah!"

Batter brought his hips up in a rolling motion, plunging deep into Zacharie's core. Zacharie's hands moved to his shoulders, gripping so tight his nails cut into Batter's skin as he moved with him, his cheeks flushed, eyes closed, lips parted, his whole body trembling with every thrust. Batter grunted into Zacharie's shoulder, feeling the heat of his climax coil, rise, and peak in the pit of his stomach. Zacharie was so tight and so hot and the way he gasped and babbled incoherently every time Batter's head brushed his sweet spot was quickly driving him to the edge.

"Zacharie," he gasped, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

"I know," Zacharie managed. His own movements had taken on the same urgency as Batter's. "God, Batter!"

That did it. Zacharie screaming his name, his body arched and shining with sweat, his nails drawing blood from Batter's shoulders, all of it led to a sensory overload and he came in great, shuddering jerks straight onto Zacharie's sweet spot. Zacharie's hot seed spurted up his torso as he came too, clenching around Batter as they both rode out their orgasms and collapsed, trembling, against one another.

"Was that… okay?" Batter panted. Zacharie kissed him shakily as he raised himself up, letting Batter's cock slip from his ass.

"Are you kidding?" Zacharie chuckled, taking Batter's face in his hands and stroking his thumbs over his flushed cheeks. "That was amazing." He kissed him, and they both smiled against the other's lips.

"Yeah," Batter agreed quietly. "Yeah, it was."

They lay down again and Batter pulled Zacharie into his arms, skin warm on skin and Zacharie's heart beating reassuringly against his. Zacharie smiled and touched Batter's lips.

"I like this," he said.

"My lips?"

Zacharie laughed. "Well, that too. But you're smiling. You never used to smile."

Batter covered Zacharie's hand with his own, and pressed his lips to the tips of his fingers. "I only smile when I'm with you."

Zacharie hummed happily. "I remember the first time I saw you smile. It was when you were trying to teach me how to swing that ridiculous bat of yours, and I was holding it all wrong."

Batter chuckled. "Yeah, you were awful at that."

Zacharie gave his chest a playful shove. "You laughed, and it was the most wonderful sound I had ever heard. Everything about you lit up, and I think… I think that was the moment I started to fall in love with you," he said shyly. "Whenever I came to see you after that, I tried to get you to laugh like that again. But you never did."

"Zacharie," Batter murmured. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Zacharie's eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled. "It's alright, amor. That's what made it all the more special. That laugh… I locked it away in my heart, like a butterfly in a cage. Doesn't compare to the real thing, though," he added quietly. He rested his head against Batter's chest and Batter hugged him tighter. Zacharie leaned into the touch with a happy sigh, before he pulled away and leaned over the edge of the bed, reaching for something on the ground. Batter watched him curiously, propping himself up on his elbows, as Zacharie retrieved his mask from the pile of clothes and manoeuvred himself back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. "I uh… I want you to have this, Batter," he said, brushing the mask off and holding it out for Batter to take.

Batter stared at him. "Are- are you sure?" he asked. Zacharie nodded.

"It seems right. It came off for you, after all. I think… I think you were always meant to keep it."

Batter wasn't sure they were talking about the mask anymore, but he sat up and took it gently from Zacharie's hands nonetheless, kissing him softly as he did so. Zacharie's hands went to Batter's face, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss with a maddening heat and urgency. Something twisted in Batter's gut, though he didn't know why. Perhaps it was because there was something about all this that almost seemed like Zacharie was saying goodbye.

"Will you do one more thing for me, amor?" Zacharie breathed when they parted. His hands stayed cupping Batter's face, thumbs tracing the lines of his cheekbones.

"Anything, Zacharie," Batter said. "You know I will, but-"

Zacharie silenced him with another kiss, so soft and fleeting that Batter hardly knew it had happened until he licked his lips and tasted Zacharie's sweetness lingering there, like sugar and heat and love.

"Wake up," Zacharie whispered. "Please, Batter. Wake up."

The wind picked up again. Batter could see Zacharie's mouth moving, could hear him speaking, but somehow none of his words made sense. Static filled the space between his ears. Had the room always been this bright? He reached out, but suddenly Zacharie seemed impossibly far away. A metallic taste filled Batter's mouth. His stomach heaved.

"Zacharie!"

Zacharie's lips moved; he was smiling.

"What?" Batter's heart was a frightened rabbit. "I can't hear you! Zacharie!"

His lips moved again, and this time Batter saw that he was mouthing 'I love you.'

The rushing sound of the wind intensified and god, the room was so bright he could barely see. Zacharie mouthed it again, 'I love you', and the static inside Batter's skull became the high-pitched scream of a flat-lining EKG. A jolt of white-hot electric pain ran through his chest, and his heart jumped-

The wind dropped off like it had been cut with a knife, and Batter woke with a gasp in a blinding white room. Blurred shadows moved around him, shouting words Batter did not understand. Why were they tilted? Oh, he was lying down. The EKG was still making noise, but it was outside his head now and it had giving up screaming in favour of steady, robotic bleeps. Batter wished it would stop. Someone had filled his skull with lead, and he wanted to sleep. Someone else shone a light into his eyes. Batter tried to glare at them. Couldn't they see he needed to sleep?

"Welcome back, kid," said a voice. A familiar face swam into view above him. Doctor Dedan grinned down at him with too-large teeth. "You gave us quite the scare."

Batter tried to make his mouth move. "W… wh…?"

"Don't try to talk just yet," Dedan told him. A Magnolia fussed with one of the tubes in his arm. "Just take it easy."

Something warm and white jumped onto Batter's bed just then and started kneading his chest, purring like an engine.

"Pab… lo," Batter said in surprise, raising his hand to awkwardly stroke the cat behind his ears. Pablo butted his bony head against Batter's fingers. The Doctor chuckled.

"You should thank him," one of the Magnolias said. "We never would have found you in time if it weren't for this little guy. I've never heard him make such a fuss. Wouldn't stop yowling 'til we opened the door to your room."

Pablo settled down on Batter's chest, regarding him with one blue eye. Batter carded his fingers through the cat's soft fur. "Thanks," he mumbled. The cat blinked slowly, grinning. Batter half expected him to speak then, though he didn't quite know why. Cats didn't speak.

They weren't supposed to grin, either.

"Feel like shit," he slurred. The Doctor's mouth quirked into a wry smile.

"Yeah, well, overdosing on Risperdal tends to do that to you," he said dryly. "You were clinically dead for three minutes."

Dead? No, that wasn't right. It couldn't be. Three minutes. Risperdal.

He remembered then. Swallowing the handful of choked-up pills. Lying down on the bathroom floor. Waiting for the dizziness, the racing heart, the seizures. Waiting for death.

But why?

There was something missing. Something he had forgotten. Pablo's weight on his chest seemed familiar, but why should it? He had never even seen the cat before today…

But then, how did he know his name?

He didn't even realise he was crying until he pressed his hand to his cheek and felt the wetness there. Dedan started to turn away to give him a moment, and paused.

"What's this?" he asked, touching Batter's other hand, the one that was dangling over the edge of the bed. It seemed to take an enormous amount of effort for Batter to turn his head and focus on what the Doctor was pointing at. He frowned. What the fuck was he holding? It looked like-

A mask.

Zacharie.

Batter's eyes widened, and suddenly he forgot how to breathe. He remembered everything; Zacharie, the way he'd swung the bat all wrong just to hear Batter laugh, Zacharie's head on his shoulder, Zacharie's eyes and hair and golden skin, Zacharie driving his sword through a spectre's belly, Zacharie's mouth, Zacharie naked and gasping, Zacharie's hands on him, Zacharie mouthing 'I love you' as the wind came up and tore Batter away…

Pablo purred, sending vibrations through Batter's ribs. He lifted Zacharie's mask and stared into the empty holes where Zacharie's eyes should have been.

"A friend," he said at last, and Dedan smiled.

"Alright then. Try and get some sleep. You're going to be here for a while, I'm afraid."

He left, and Batter put the mask down at his side and closed his eyes.

A dream, he decided. But a good dream.

He licked his lips, and tasted sugar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end...
> 
> Or is it?


	20. Epilogue

_One month later_

.

Batter sat on a low stone wall outside the hospital, overlooking the parking area. Eloha's scuffed-up silver Volvo sat across the lot in the shade of a tree; he could see it if he craned his neck. He wasn't looking at it, though. He was looking at Zacharie's mask, turning it over and over in his calloused hands. Not that he needed to  _look_  at it to see it anymore. He'd spent the last four weeks memorising every dent and crease, all the rough patches and smooth, the patterns the brush had made in the white paint, the smell of smoke and sugar. It was solid, and real, and undeniable.

And so was Zacharie.

It had taken some persistence on his part, but eventually Batter had found out what he needed to know. He hadn't dreamed him.

Well. Not really, anyway.

Batter smiled to himself and looked up at the cloudless sky, narrowing his eyes slightly against the brightness. Pablo chirruped as he leaped onto the wall beside him, and Batter lifted Zacharie's mask out of the way. Pablo had a habit of butting his head against the mask, and Batter figured it had had enough damage to last a lifetime. Pablo pawed at Batter's leg, his claws needling into his thigh. He blinked up at Batter, grinning.

"Yeah, I remember," Batter told the cat, scratching him behind the ears. Pablo leaned into the touch, purring so enthusiastically that his whole, thin body vibrated. Batter chuckled. "It was my idea, you mangy bonebag."

Pablo knew better than to be offended. He settled down beside Batter, wedged in the angle made by Batter's warm thigh and the equally warm stone wall. Batter set Zacharie's mask on his lap, winding one of the ribbons around his finger. It seemed strange to be leaving this place after so long, but there was really no need for him to stay. He'd recovered quickly from his overdose. He'd opened up to Enoch. Talked to the Magnolias, made the young ones blush and the older ones crack a smile. They'd been hesitant to let him keep Pablo at first, but the cat soon made it clear that he had every intention of leaving with Batter whether they allowed it or not – and when has a mere human ever been able to force a cat to do  _anything_  against his will?

Still, it seemed strange. Even when the  _click, clack_  of Eloha's shoes echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings and her long shadow fell across his face, it didn't really seem real.

"Are you ready to go, love?"

Her voice was as soft and timid as Batter remembered it, and she, when he looked up at her, was just as beautiful, in that meek, fragile way she had always been. Her long hair was thinner than he remembered, though still that same unearthly shade of blonde. Batter's was the same, but darker. He reached up and brushed a strand of it from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. He ignored the way she tensed, trying not to flinch away from his touch. The bruises on her throat had healed a long time ago, but some things take longer. Batter didn't mind. They would heal eventually. He could wait.

"Yeah, I'm ready," he said, quietly. Like a nervous kitten, he had to be careful not to startle her.

Her eyes darted over him, taking in his crumpled shirt, the mask in his hands. Her lips pursed at the sight of Pablo curled against his leg; she had never liked cats, but Batter had insisted. Finally her searching gaze registered what was missing.

"Your bat," she said, managing to turn it into a question.

"I lost it," Batter replied vaguely. It was the same thing he had told Dedan, and Enoch, and anyone else that had asked – and it was true. He had no idea what had happened to it after he left the labyrinth. Perhaps it was still there, slowly being swallowed by the creeping, fleshy fungus that pervaded the space between life and death, but he couldn't exactly tell  _them_  that.

"Oh," said Eloha, and that was that. Batter stood, feeling the reassuring weight of the bottle of pills in his left pocket, and they walked to Eloha's car. Pablo followed closely at Batter's heels, a grinning white shadow.

.

"Hey, mum?"

God, how long had it been since he'd called her that? Eloha glanced at him as she drove, her pale lips forming a small 'o' of surprise.

"Batter?"

"Let's not go home just yet." He turned Zacharie's mask over in his hands, and Pablo purred from the back seat. "There's something I have to do first."

Eloha's lips twitched up at the corners, as though her face would break if she smiled too widely.

"Of course," she said, and Batter told her where to go, using quiet words and gentle touches to her arm.

.

The sea was just as Zacharie had described it; cold and wild, but incredibly beautiful. Batter stood on the edge of a cliff above the grey lace waters of the  _Golfe du Lion_ , his face upturned to feel the icy spray on his skin. The wind buffeted him, tugging at his clothes like the fingers of an insistent lover, but he wasn't afraid of falling. This was Zacharie's place, and he wouldn't let him fall.

Pablo twined himself around Batter's ankles, grinning. Batter's hands tightened on Zacharie's mask. He could almost feel the boy standing beside him, laughing as they laced their fingers together and leaned into the wind.

"Do you think I should… throw it in, or something?" Batter said. Pablo rubbed himself on Batter's legs, purring unhelpfully. "Don't give me that," he chided. "I know you're not just a cat, Judge."

Pablo grinned up at him, and blinked one of his huge, impossibly blue eyes. Batter turned his face back towards the sea.

"I said I'd visit you," Batter said. "I know you didn't think I meant it, but I did. Even then, I meant it."

Tears and sea-spray mingled on his cheeks, and the wind turned it all to salt.

He was still holding the mask when he walked back to where Eloha was waiting in the car. He slid into the front seat and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Thanks, mum."

Eloha raised her hand to her cheek, colour blossoming over the frigid white skin beneath it. They drove home in comfortable silence. Bruises began to heal. Slowly.

.

That night they had a quiet dinner, and when they were done Batter collected their plates and hugged Eloha one-armed.

"I'm sorry, mum," he said. She smelled of honeysuckle and starlight. She didn't hug him back, but that was alright. Batter could wait.

"I left everything the way it was," she said.

.

Batter carried Pablo up the stairs. He was too bloated to make the climb himself; Batter had fed him titbits off his plate all evening, and once – just once, he had caught Eloha doing the same, though he pretended not to notice.

She hadn't lied. Everything was exactly the same as it had been the day he'd left, if a little – scratch that, a lot cleaner than he remembered. Obviously she had been through and dusted, taking care not to disturb his things. It was good to be back in his own space. Strange, but good.

Some things, though, are meant to change. He set Pablo down on his bed and went over to his desk. The chair looked wrong there, somehow. He dragged it carefully away from the desk, and put it beside his bed. Zacharie's mask fell onto the seat, and Batter finally allowed himself to smile.

_Home_.

.

Late that night, Pablo woke Batter with his purring. Batter groaned and buried his face in his pillow.

"Fuck off, Pablo," he mumbled, as Pablo began to knead his shoulder insistently. Something struck the back of his head, and he sat up with a yelp. Zacharie's mask grinned at him from his bedspread.

Batter turned to face the chair so quickly he almost fractured his neck. Pablo jumped down from the bed and twined himself around a pair of skinny ankles. Golden brown fingertips reached down to scratch the cat behind his ears, peeking out from the sleeves of a jumper so white it shone in the darkness like moonlight.

A name caught in Batter's throat, perched just below his chin. It tasted of sugar, and heat, and love.

"Zacharie."

Zacharie smiled.

" _Hola_ ,  _amor_."

.

**_The End._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real this time. You have no idea of the internal struggle I went through trying to decide whether Zach sould say "Hola, amigo" or "Hola, amor" at the end. Anyway, I hope this quelled your bloodlust ahaha. Keep an eye out for the companion piece to this, which will be titled 'Coma White'. Why? Fuckin wait and see. Oh and I probably should have mentioned that 'The OFF Switch' is A LOT raunchier and less plot-driven than 'WAMH', so apologies to anyone who went to read it looking for something similar to this because wowee you would have had quite a shock. Thanks for reading, you're all mad and I love you.
> 
> See you 'round, amigos!


End file.
